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Monday, June 20, 2005

After So Many Deaths

Who would have thought my shrivelled heart
Could have recovered greenness? It was gone
Quite under ground, as flowers depart
To feed their mother-root when they have blown,
Where they together
All the hard weather
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

*****

And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing: O my only Light,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fell all night.

___________________

My favorite poem about aging. Tell me who wrote this fragment of a larger piece and I'll send you a copy of Karen Baker's Vocal Exercises in Stone. (One of the lines is a give-away...)

Don't forget the Phil Goldvarg memorial at SPC tonight (25th & Q); send poems to PDQ (see previous entry); and get out your tights and your tu-tus—tomorrow we celebrate Midsummer's Night!

—Medusa (I'll bring the mead...)