All Souls
Did someone say that there would be an end,
An end, Oh, an end, to love and mourning?
Such voices speak when sleep and waking blend,
The cold bleak voices of the early morning
When all the birds are dumb in dark November—
Remember and forget, forget, remember.
After the false night, warm true voices, wake!
Voice of the dead that touches the cold living,
Through the pale sunlight once more gravely speak.
Tell me again, while the last leaves are falling:
“Dear child, what has been once so interwoven
Cannot be raveled, nor the gift ungiven.”
Now the dead move through all of us still glowing,
Mother and child, lover and lover mated,
Are wound and bound together and enflowing.
What has been plaited cannot be unplaited—
Only the strands grow richer with each loss
And memory makes kings and queens of us.
Dark into light, light into darkness, spin.
When all the birds have flown to some real haven,
We who find shelter in the warmth within,
Listen, and feel new-cherished, new-forgiven,
As the lost human voices speak through us and blend
Our complex love, our mourning without end.
May (Eleanore Marie) Sarton (1912 – 1995)
only two oak leaves high
From Michael Plecker
ReplyDelete"You live in a neighborhood that’s so rich in history that time and dust has covered more than might ever be discovered again. It’s a beautiful thing to see a marker that symbolizes some of the events long past."
From Ralph David Samuel:
"The verb 'ravel' belongs to a small number that means both of two opposite actions. I came upon this while checking its meaning before using it in a poem many years ago to suggest both actions simultaneously. It is thus a helpful but dangerous word for poets."
From Claude R:
"The smallest grave: two oak leaves high"
Beautiful photos, beautiful line.
https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=10225898008664323&set=a.1220677324535