Myra Weisberg Sklarew

Myra Sklarew, the (not so) famous poet who lived among us for many years, we are sad to say, has departed this world, having been done in by the overflow of books in her house. It is hard to decide which it was-whether the first edition of the collected Shakespeare plays-Hamlet weeping by the river where Ophelia floated (Do we or don't we...? Can we or shouldn't we... ?)-well, she couldn't quite remember his exact words. Or Milton's Paradise Lost, she being flattened as the devil engaged in brilliant conversation with the protagonist. Whether Mendele's stories or Isaac Babel's Red Army were the ultimate usurpers, conspiring her demise as she sat innocently at her desk as was her wont each morning composing minor poems. Or which volumes leaped-or did they lurch-from their shelves to do her in, for she was found buried under tome after tome (read tomb), as if sleeping.

But when those who discovered her after four thousand and three of her emails went unanswered, she was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, slowly, they began to lift the manuscripts and notebooks and journals and index cards and fine-point pens, and her remarkable unpublished novel set in a village in Greece, her wondrous play that onJy once-thanks to the kindness of friends and strangers-was performed, oddly enough named Remember, her infinite uncollected manuscripts of poetry, her science articles largely unpublished, essay collections (unpublished), stacks of pages toward her memoir.

When they lifted these things from a mountain of shapes, only finally to find her contentedly dead surrounded, nay buried, among her beloved companions. How many times had she wandered among her bookcases trying to decide which ones to part with, to relieve the burden on the floor which one day would cave in from the enormous weight?

But then there was George Steiner whispering to her in three languages, Freud, Agnon in Hebrew and Yiddish, Seferis in Greek, Unamuno in Italian, Akhmatova in Russian, and of course her beloved Dante-nell mezzo def camin di nostra vita. They were all talking at once. Thus she could not part with any one of them.

They were silent as stone when the investigators arrived to find out what had happened. Faithful as the trees guarding her house and only if a small wind came up, would a page flutter here and there, revealing nothing. Thus do we bid farewell to the one who said most hesitantly: "I am a poet." Or was it, "Am I a poet?"

Composed by Myra Sklarew in the sanctity of her alarmingly messy study on this fine day in April 2015.

P.S. By and large, I see this remarkable body of mine with its multitude of systems pushing blood through 60 thousand miles of blood vessels every day, neurons telling me about the world every moment and where I am in it, and all else, has my eternal gratitude. If there is anything eternal, I am most happy to have been here.

Poet, professor of literature and creative writing, and scientist, Myra Sklarew passed away on Monday, December 30, 2024. She graduated from Tufts University and then worked in the Department of Neurophysiology at the Yale University School of Medicine. After receiving her MA from Johns Hopkins University in 1970, she came to American University where she co-founded the Master of Fine Arts program. Myra was President of the Yaddo Artist Community in Saratoga Springs, New York, from 1987-1991 and then returned to American University. She taught, mentored and advised over 10,000 students until her retirement in 2007.

Myra authored 17 books of poetry, non-fiction and science. One of her most well received non-fiction books was A Survivor Called Trauma, which chronicles decades of research on the impact of trauma in the memory of Holocaust survivors.

She gave numerous presentations including readings, lectures, and performances during her career as a writer and educator. Over the years, she was recognized with awards and grants from a wide variety of organizations and institutions including the Poetry Society of America and PEN. She received the University Scholar/Teacher Award from American University.

She was married to Bruce Sklarew for 21 years. The Sklarew's two children, Deborah (Mark) Langosch and Eric (Renee) Sklarew, were born in 1957 and 1959. She has three granddaughters, Rachel (Daniel) Renaud, Allison Sklarew and Danielle Sklarew and two great-granddaughters, Elle and Olympia Renaud and a sister, Betsy (the late Joseph) Buxer. She was predeceased by her sister Janice (the late Lawrence) Eanet. Myra Sklarew resided in Bethesda, MD, since 1961.

Funeral services will be held on Tuesday, December 31, 2024, 11 a.m. at TORCHINSKY HEBREW FUNERAL HOME, 254 Carroll St. NW, Washington, DC, 202-541-1001. Interment following at Adas Israel Cemetery, Washington, DC. Shiva will be announced. Memorial contributions may be made to Montgomery Hospice, www.montgomeryhospice.org.