Monday, February 27, 2012

From Time To Time I Read Some Poetry

But, I confess, not often that by others. Not, I suppose, as often as I should but time is limited. What I read often depends on a citation in some review, maybe in The New York Review, one of the few such journals I see. In one not many months ago I ran not a reference to Louis MacNeice and  his Autumn Journal. Off went an e-mail order to Amazon. Yes it should be read. It stirred the following from me.

Death Without Cause

"...take it...on trust that living is
The only thing worth living and that dying
Had best be left to take care of itself in the end."
Louis MacNeice╦ć
Death just happens, it needs no cause. Being born
parents tried to explain by
displacing myth with analogies about bees,
flowers and, sometimes, birds
whose eggs needed seeds. But apparently
death needed no cause. 
One day your brother came to your school,
said "Father has died and
I'm taking you home."Home where the event
must have ben mentioned.
I don't remember. Someone may have cried
but I don't remember. There
must have been a funeral, I must have been there
since I was fourteen. I know
where he's buried: the name and date in stone.
I've stood there alone
and wondered why I don't know. Death just
happened, needed no cause —
at least I don't know it. You might ask why
I didn't ask. Perhaps I did.
It's the answer that's missing. How would I know
when I didn't know he'd been ill?
Back at school I do recall someone saying: "He
took 'it' remarkably well."
I didn't know what else to do. Dying took care
of itself in the end.

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