on an obscure mission through the hallway.
Help me, spirits, to penetrate his dream
and ease his restless passage.
Lay back the darkness for a salesman
who could charm everything but the shadows,
an immigrant who stands on the threshold
of a vast night
without his walker or his cane
and cannot remember what he meant to say,
though his right arm is raised, as if in prophecy,
while his left shakes uselessly in warning.
My father in the night shuffling from room to room
is no longer a father or a husband or a son,
But a boy standing on the edge of a forest
listening to the distant cry of wolves,
to wild dogs,
to primitive wingbeats shuddering in the treetops.
- Edward Hirsch, "Lay Back the Darkness"
(In memoriam, one year later.)
A beautiful, moving poem, as is your tribute to your father from a year ago, which I have just read. I am put in mind of Anne Carson, whose "The Anthropology of Water" includes many touching reminiscences about her father, and also her poem, "Father's Old Blue Cardigan," a link to which can be found here: http://rainingacorns.blogspot.com/2010/01/world-of-white-and-snowy-scents.html.
Posted by: Raining Acorns | March 26, 2010 at 08:03 AM
Thank you.
Posted by: Michelle | March 26, 2010 at 11:49 AM
Do not go gentle into that good night...
Posted by: Niall | March 28, 2010 at 09:49 AM
What a lovely tribute
Posted by: Larry | March 30, 2010 at 03:21 AM