Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Guest Poet: Jack Gilbert R.I.P.

As is Synchronicity's way, this blog post was pre-scheduled to run today. Yesterday, Jack Gilbert's heart blazed white-hot as his earthly fields perished.
May your Love grow ever brighter. I shall think of you every time I see a rowboat or hear an oar touch water. R.I.P., Jack Gilbert. I for one shall risk delight.~~GH

Getting Ready

What if the heart does not pale as the body wanes 
 but is like the sun that blazes hotter each day 
on these immense, perishing fields? What then?
~~Jack Gilbert
What, indeed. ~~GH

And if you have a little more time, contemplate this one.

A Brief for the Defense, by Jack Gilbert
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that’s what God Wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered caf├ęs and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.


Anonymous said...

Thank you.

Ginger said...

Thank you for reading and commenting. :-)

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