"...we part with tender relations stretching far behind us, that never can be exactly renewed..."
As always it is a beautiful post. I think that when I was young I thought I knew everything and as I grew older I realized how little I really knew. I am sure that your son is probably a bit homesick. I remember having quite a struggle with that my first year away from home.
I think your posts are a bit like meditation. After I read one, I am always left feeling calm and serene. I can picture your window open with the harvest moon shining in. I so love the night. I spend a lot of time walking in the night and the moon has been lovely this past week or so. More like day than night. They are saying that in October mars will be out in the early morning hours and will be so close to earth that it is almost as big as the moon. I can't wait to see that.
There is so much here--the call to return to Frost who I haven't read in quite some time, the meditation on how life appears at different ages, but above all, I am impressed by the mood you create. As JC says, I see the moon outside the window, enjoy the company of the cat, experience the melancholy that comes through the phone lines when you talk to your son. A lovely post indeed.
Very nice, enjoyed that alot.
As I approach 30, I find myself chasing time as I am forced to keep pace with the speed of life. No one can tell you when you're fresh out of childhood that you should smell the roses- there is too much to explore, including freedom (though not in Basic Training!). Now, 16 months from an age that starts with 3, I can only wish I was at that point. How odd it is that nothing turns out as you expected when you were young enough to think you knew everything. I wonder in a frivolous panic if I can scrape together something that resembles anything like the plans I once had, but a series of stupid youthful mistakes has taken me off the path.
You said, "I learned that without experience of a day fully lived, you cannot create context, and without context, even though your words may be wrapped in a sheath of metaphor and rhyme, your words are void of compassion." How true. But- how does one have time for a day fully lived while slaving away for the sins of Adam, trying to eke out enough for rent and still salvage the wreckage of a soul? I stare at the same computer screen most of my time, wasting what precious life I have been given. My life has no context, and the emptiness that I feel is a reflection of that absence. You know, I think it is time for a change. My dreams are incarcerated by a wallet full of I.O.U.s, but it isn't too late to get back onto the path. I suppose it's never too late until your time has expired.
JC
Thank you for your thoughful and considerate comment. Especially appreciate your insightful reflection:
"I think your posts are a bit like meditation. After I read one, I am always left feeling calm and serene."
Scot
Patry:
Good to see you check in. Thanks for your kind and thoughful response.
Scot
Daedalus:
Thank you for reading and commenting.
Speaking of which, I found this to be an interesting statement that you made:
"My dreams are incarcerated by a wallet full of I.O.U.s, but it isn't too late to get back onto the path."
Remember, though, that Daedalus was the Leonardo Da Vinci of ancient Greece, and as such, it was nearly impossible to stifle his imagination.
I hold my son responsible for my current state of mind. Because of him, I learned how to balance my needs with the demands placed on me by others.
Hope to see you check in again.
Scot
I too wrote poetry when I was young. At the time I knew a guy my age who had the gift - his poetry was wonderful, superb examples of style and control, technique and knowledge. I admired him greatly. Later I began to realize that his poems were beautifully-crafted husks, empty shells with nothing to say. And mine were tightly-wound bundles of adolescent angst.
For thirty years I have believed that no writer has anything worthwhile to say until he has lived life. Now that I am old, I permit myself to write of a life spent in hard work and drifting, thinking perhaps it might have some relevance for a few out there.
You speak of Frost, an old friend of mine (no, not literally - I'm not that old). Only a week or so ago I recommended him to a poet I know, a lass just getting into her stride at the age of 48. She takes him and reproduces effortlessly, just as she devoured cummings. Perhaps the mid-forties is the coming of age for writers...
Another excellent post, Scot; I echo all the praises of the previous commenters.
Scot,
To me this one seems to have more of you than the others. There is a softer note, maybe it's the music and the poetry and the conversation with your son that draws out the song.
The prize of living these many years is that the firsts are few and far behind and with them the stress and panic that makes me act too quickly. A friend once said, "i've lost a little quick, but I've gained a little smart." I think a common wisdom is the prize of losing youth.
You wove this piece so wonderfully through to your cat stretching with the cavernous yawn, and you know if they noticed the moon, I was on it. Your sub-stories of the poetry that had no life gave the piece such depth and humanity, like recognizing so many things about one's younger self.
It was more than beautiful. It was deeply insightful.
Liz.
Came here for the frst time to find some deeply inspiring substance.
Clive & Liz:
Never did I imagine that when I started blogging I would develop camaraderie with people who are like-minded in their writing pursuits. With print medium one is never quite sure as to what particular effect his or her words may have on any particular reader. Sometimes you’ll see a letter to the editor commenting on your work, sometimes people will come up to you after a reading of your work to share their reactions. But blogging gives a writer the opportunity to develop an immediate readership that is both interactive and responsive.
By the comments people write in response to their reading of your work, you gain a sense of how effective and meaningful your words really are. But what I appreciate most is how blogging has created the opportunity to initiate a continual dialogue with your readers, and in the process, begin to develop a sense of friendship and community. And so I appreciate the friendship I am beginning to develop with my readers as they comment on how my work affected them. I am especially humbled, though, when readers not only do that, but also respond in terms of my writing ability.
Thank you, both, for coming by on a regular basis, and for your wonderful, kind and insightful commentary. It is much appreciated.
In friendship and the spirit of community,
Scot
Oh boy, Scott. I feel out of my league here. Vivaldi, Frost.
I think you will find that your son will change after being in the army. I had friends who served and at 20 they were already different from the regular tweens. They took their time mostly, while the others still hurried along. The army matures people.
That was a beautiful piece of writing and thanks for your insights.
Melly,
Yes, it certainly does. I know that when I was discharged from the Marine Corps at 19 after serving two years, I had become vastly different in temperment than my friends, and felt I had outgrown them considerably. It was because of that recognition, I think, that helped me make the decision to go on to college.
Thank you for stopping in and commenting.
Scot
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