In Memory

This post is in memory of a beloved professor, Rich DuRocher, who lived from Sept. 2, 1955, until Nov. 16, 2010. I only wish I had a better poem to offer him.

Today I went about my business –
The wakings, the risings,
A meeting to talk of my future
A quick snack
Laughter at a misunderstanding,
and you died.
You died as the sun
rose and the frost melted,
As the birds flew south in
their asymmetrical V,
As he and she walked the
street, tripped, smiled, sobbed,
As I fell in and out of love,
Whispered in the dark and
wondered what would come of it all.
And I thought, as I passed
the bins of garbage and newspaper,
of cartons and glass,
that life is really
sorry and joy, comingled.

November Gray

She’ll come at dusky first of day
White over yellow harvest’s song
Upon her dewy rainbow way
She shall be beautiful and strong
The lidless eye of noon shall spray
Tan on her ankles in the hay
Shall kiss her brown the whole day long

I’ll know her in the windows tall
Above the crickets of the hay
I’ll know her when her odd eyes fall
One May-blue, one November-gray
I’ll watch her down the red barn wall
Take down her rusty scythe and call
And I will follow her away
I will follow her away

All Hallow’s Eve

I know it’s a little late to be writing a Halloween post, but this poem is so interesting and evocative that it doesn’t deserve to miss out on being shared just because I got too busy to post it. Thanks to my older sister Hannah who showed it to me – I don’t think I have ever seen it before.

The Stolen Child

W.B. Yeats

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed –
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest
For he comes the human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.