Saturday, November 3, 2012

A Repeat

Readers of this blog have been following our adventures for some time now. As we post updates, you've come to know a lot about us.

Once Mike joined the author column, you've learned that he has many more facets than just 'retired lawyer,' and 'Lynne's favorite boy.'

Carpenter, speaker, writer, guy-about-town, pilot, sailor, swimmer, biker, bike restorer.....and, or course, chronicler of Cancer from a 1st person view.

Does it surprise anyone that he has a poetic side? Quite a while ago, I found a poem under my pillow. We had been grieving that we would not grow old together.

We have since grown 3 years older with each other.

Today, I sorted through a pile of stuff and recovered it. I'm posting it again.

The Old Gray Couple

They have only to look at each other to laugh--
no one knows why, not even they:
something back in the lives they've lived,
something they both remember but no words can say.

They go off at an evening's end to talk
but they don't, or to sleep but they lie awake--
hardly a word, just a touch, just near,
just listening but not to hear.

Everything they know they know together--
everything, that is, but one:
their lives they've learned like secrets from each other;
their deaths they think of the in the nights alone.

She: Love, says the poet, has no reasons.

He: Not even after fifty years?

She: particularly after fifty years.

He: what was it, then, that lured us, that still teases?

She: You used to say my plaited hair!

He: And then you'd laugh.

She: Because it wasn't plaited.

Love had no reasons so you made one up to laught at. Lơk! The old, gray couple!

He: No, to prove the adage true:

Love has no reasons but old lovers do.

She: And they can't tell.

He: I can and so can you.
Fifty years ago we drew each other, magnetized needle toward the longing north.
It was your naked presence that so moved me. It was your absolute presence that was love.

She: Ah, was!

He: And now, years older, we begin to see absence not presence: what the world would be without your footstep in the world--the garden empty of the radiance where you are.

She: And that's your reason?-that old lovers see their love because they know now what its loss will be?

He: Because, like Cleopatra in the play, they know there's nothing left once love's away...

She: Nothing remarkable beneath the visiting moon...

He: Ours is the late, last wisdom of the afternoon. We know that love, like light, grows dearer toward the dark.

-Archibald Macleish

1 comment:

  1. That is beautiful, thank you so much for sharing. It really fits you two.