Greg thank you for this article and for bringing Laura Gilpins two poems to us. I think I will always remember them now, with tears in my eyes. Just beautiful and precious
The first poem is so sad. So short, but brought a tear to my eye.
And the second is beautiful and oh how I wish humans were more like nature in our dying processes. There is a movement in that direction.
My husband died of glioblastoma 10 years ago and my parents are long gone.
Nature is nature and we are all part of much bigger picture, but not in a religious sense, at least not for me, but something far grander. And yes it can be cruel, but mostly magnificent.
Those blow me away. I hadn't heard of her. I have always thought that, for a short poem, the ending is critical. It has to turn you, twist you somehow. Think of "slouching towards Bethlehem to be born" or "Downward to darkness, on extended wings." or "And we are here as on a darkling plain/Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight/Where ignorant armies clash by night."
She has certainly mastered that in these two poems.
Thank you for opening my eyes to the beauty of poetry. I have never really delved into this form of literature, perhaps because for most of my life, business studies then a career in business consumed my attention, escapism with Clancy or Grisham, a dash of the classics.
My only brush with poetry came in my senior HS English class, the previously mentioned wonderful Phil Gross devoted some class time to poetry. Much of it was about things like iambic pentameter and different types of structure, haiku, etc.
My only brush with the genre was one stab at writing a poem
They say
He is up there
But how do I know this
The answer is very simple
Believe
This at a time when entering a seminary was a real option, that is until the allure of the opposite sex took firm hold, Carol was her name. The waffles of a boy from Jersey.
I see in the poems you cited and my own clumsy attempt, it is not about deciding to write something memorable, rather having a life event or seeing into around one something moving, something not of the brain, rather the heart.
C'est la vie! After a horribilis septimana, poetry to ease the mind.
"All is well, all is well, enjoy this moment for it will be gone in the blink of an eye." That is the phrase that came to me when I read the beautifully haunting "Two-Headed Calf". And hopefully it is what I will remember when I allow worry to creep into my head. We must live for the moment and appreciate the time we have in these bodies. There are beautiful things all around us if we only choose to see them. I used to see dead trees in the forest and mourn the loss of a tree. But that dead tree goes on to feed the ecosystem of the forest and allows it to thrive. Without the dead tree, the forest would not exist. In that same tone, our dead relatives and friends go on to feed us and allow us to thrive as they live on within us. I wish you a great day, Greg, as you remember and celebrate your Father on his birthday.
Yes, you did leave us with something beautiful. “… nothing is wasted in nature or in love.” I know a lot about love from life experience; but the general subject at hand, Life After Death, took me—probably because of my religious upbringing—off on a tangent about beliefs of the eternality of the soul. Her first sentence, “These things I know,” brought me back to the profound focus of the poem—the certainty that Life goes on! Beautiful!
Wow. Both are stunning. I can't wait for my grandson to wake up so I can show him. Thanks!
Greg. You have become a favorite part of my Sunday mornings. I have written a bit of not-so-great poetry. My favorite bit is:
“It ain’t no crime
Not to rhyme,
But it’s mindly treason
Not to reason.”
Billserle.com
Thank you for the Sunday introduction to Laura Gilpin on this anniversary of your dad's birthday.
Blew me away! Thank you!
Greg thank you for this article and for bringing Laura Gilpins two poems to us. I think I will always remember them now, with tears in my eyes. Just beautiful and precious
Tearfully beautiful.....
Excellent.
Clear as a bell to this ole farm boy.
The first poem is so sad. So short, but brought a tear to my eye.
And the second is beautiful and oh how I wish humans were more like nature in our dying processes. There is a movement in that direction.
My husband died of glioblastoma 10 years ago and my parents are long gone.
Nature is nature and we are all part of much bigger picture, but not in a religious sense, at least not for me, but something far grander. And yes it can be cruel, but mostly magnificent.
A poem for the times..
"This is the dark time, my love,
All round the land brown beetles crawl about
The shining sun is hidden in the sky
Red flowers bend their heads in awful sorrow
This is the dark time, my love,
It is the season of oppression, dark metal, and tears.
It is the festival of guns, the carnival of misery
Everywhere the faces of men are strained and anxious
Who comes walking in the dark night time?
Whose boot of steel tramps down the slender grass
It is the man of death, my love, the stranger invader
Watching you sleep and aiming at your dream."
Martin Carter
Those blow me away. I hadn't heard of her. I have always thought that, for a short poem, the ending is critical. It has to turn you, twist you somehow. Think of "slouching towards Bethlehem to be born" or "Downward to darkness, on extended wings." or "And we are here as on a darkling plain/Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight/Where ignorant armies clash by night."
She has certainly mastered that in these two poems.
Beloved Greg, the dead are living loudly with me today. I needed this. Thank you.
"They know undying things, for they wander where earth withers away...
W.B. Yeats
Thanks for reminding us that death is merely a change of form, not an ending.
Greg
Thank you for opening my eyes to the beauty of poetry. I have never really delved into this form of literature, perhaps because for most of my life, business studies then a career in business consumed my attention, escapism with Clancy or Grisham, a dash of the classics.
My only brush with poetry came in my senior HS English class, the previously mentioned wonderful Phil Gross devoted some class time to poetry. Much of it was about things like iambic pentameter and different types of structure, haiku, etc.
My only brush with the genre was one stab at writing a poem
They say
He is up there
But how do I know this
The answer is very simple
Believe
This at a time when entering a seminary was a real option, that is until the allure of the opposite sex took firm hold, Carol was her name. The waffles of a boy from Jersey.
I see in the poems you cited and my own clumsy attempt, it is not about deciding to write something memorable, rather having a life event or seeing into around one something moving, something not of the brain, rather the heart.
C'est la vie! After a horribilis septimana, poetry to ease the mind.
"All is well, all is well, enjoy this moment for it will be gone in the blink of an eye." That is the phrase that came to me when I read the beautifully haunting "Two-Headed Calf". And hopefully it is what I will remember when I allow worry to creep into my head. We must live for the moment and appreciate the time we have in these bodies. There are beautiful things all around us if we only choose to see them. I used to see dead trees in the forest and mourn the loss of a tree. But that dead tree goes on to feed the ecosystem of the forest and allows it to thrive. Without the dead tree, the forest would not exist. In that same tone, our dead relatives and friends go on to feed us and allow us to thrive as they live on within us. I wish you a great day, Greg, as you remember and celebrate your Father on his birthday.
Yes, you did leave us with something beautiful. “… nothing is wasted in nature or in love.” I know a lot about love from life experience; but the general subject at hand, Life After Death, took me—probably because of my religious upbringing—off on a tangent about beliefs of the eternality of the soul. Her first sentence, “These things I know,” brought me back to the profound focus of the poem—the certainty that Life goes on! Beautiful!