1DebiCates
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Poor_Poet
The Poor Poet (German: Der arme Poet), 1839, by Carl Spitzweg (still counting his meter)
NPM 2026, Day 14 Decline
How do poems help us cope with the inevitable?
You knew it was coming...
The cycle for all life includes the last stage, the one we hope can be postponed for as long as possible, the last lebenstreppe. It doesn't have to be perfect gloom, but it does have to be faced.
The creaky knees, the reaching for reading glasses, the small signs of strength going, all remind us to prepare for our ultimate, eventual end.
For me, prickly Robinson Jeffers helps. Through our readings of poems each week I discovered him. Member @DAGray08 suggested Not Man Apart which features Jefferson's poems along with stunning Big Sur photography. There was a quote in it, comes from his poem "Inscription For A Gravestone," that speaks to me, comforts me about the stage beyond "decline."
As with every post for NPM, you are welcomed to answer the question or also comment with either a poem you've found or with a poem you've written that you think will go with this day's message.
The Poor Poet (German: Der arme Poet), 1839, by Carl Spitzweg (still counting his meter)
NPM 2026, Day 14 Decline
How do poems help us cope with the inevitable?
You knew it was coming...
The cycle for all life includes the last stage, the one we hope can be postponed for as long as possible, the last lebenstreppe. It doesn't have to be perfect gloom, but it does have to be faced.
The creaky knees, the reaching for reading glasses, the small signs of strength going, all remind us to prepare for our ultimate, eventual end.
For me, prickly Robinson Jeffers helps. Through our readings of poems each week I discovered him. Member @DAGray08 suggested Not Man Apart which features Jefferson's poems along with stunning Big Sur photography. There was a quote in it, comes from his poem "Inscription For A Gravestone," that speaks to me, comforts me about the stage beyond "decline."
I admired the beauty
While I was human, now I am part of the beauty.
I wander in the air,
Being mostly gas and water, and flow in the ocean;
Touch you and Asia
At the same moment; have a hand in the sunrises
And the glow of this grass.
I left the light precipitate of ashes to earth
For a love-token.
As with every post for NPM, you are welcomed to answer the question or also comment with either a poem you've found or with a poem you've written that you think will go with this day's message.
2DAGray08
>1 DebiCates: I love the Jeffers touch of imagining the earth beyond one's own life and the way it goes on. 'Now I am part of the beauty' is a little different from other Jeffers touches, in that the speaker seems to still have his own identity, able to 'Touch you and Asia' which means the human constructions still remain. An in between state that is not post-human but still part of a bigger world that doesn't need humans for it to thrive. That last line, 'left the light precipitate of ashes to earth/ for a love-token' more Romantic (capital R Romantic) than some of his anti-humanist poems had been regarded, and a much more positive view of a secular afterlife.
I had been reading work on the opposite coast from Mary Oliver and this one struck me as one that would make an interesting conversation partner:
"When Death Comes by Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world."
MO's speaker is still here and the hereafter is still the great unknown. But there's some shared positives, "I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering" and "each body a lion of courage, something precious to the earth" suggests human's capable of leaving themselves as gifts. MO's tone is less certain than RJ's but one that wants this great hereafter to be a part of this natural world.
I had been reading work on the opposite coast from Mary Oliver and this one struck me as one that would make an interesting conversation partner:
"When Death Comes by Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world."
MO's speaker is still here and the hereafter is still the great unknown. But there's some shared positives, "I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering" and "each body a lion of courage, something precious to the earth" suggests human's capable of leaving themselves as gifts. MO's tone is less certain than RJ's but one that wants this great hereafter to be a part of this natural world.
3elenchus
I've always loved that Spitzweg, and I do love the Oliver as much as the Jeffers. The Door full of Curiosity, indeed!
4DebiCates
>2 DAGray08: Thank you for sharing that poem and your thoughts. Oliver has such a down-to-earth voice. It is a nice pairing you selected, the two poets both spent their lives closely observing nature, contemplating through that lens, and thus make a nuanced conversation.
In her poems, generally and this one specifically, Oliver's narrations are inquiries, almost thinking out loud. Whereas Jeffers' voice is decided, statements of fact, you might say. She emphasizes how she hopes to face death,
"I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument."
Whereas Jeffers isn't so much about facing his own death, but of the philosophy he takes, and hopes others will take, about where he will "be" after death.
I take something away from both. When death comes for me, I hope to remember that it is natural, that no amount of argument will change it ("snaps the purse shut" is a great phrase). Like the message that is strong in Oliver's poem, I hope to accept it, and take the plunge with curiosity, as a last experience.
I don't expect any kind of afterlife. My reading of Jeffers is he didn't either.
"I wander in the air,
Being mostly gas and water"
It is in a way unexpected, that Jeffers was thinking more about those who remain that thinking of himself in his poem. Whereas Oliver is more thinking about it from her perspective. I see both as important to consider.
I figure I'll revert to the things that made me. Still atoms, mostly oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen but with no awareness as "Debi" at all. To paraphrase Carl Sagan, I'll be back to "stardust." Or, as Alan Watts used to answer the question "Where do we go when we die?" he answered "Where you were before you were born." I'd love to hear your thoughts, your expectations, @DAGray08.
P. S. Here's a link to the full Jeffers poem, https://allpoetry.com/Inscription-For-A-Gravestone
In her poems, generally and this one specifically, Oliver's narrations are inquiries, almost thinking out loud. Whereas Jeffers' voice is decided, statements of fact, you might say. She emphasizes how she hopes to face death,
"I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument."
Whereas Jeffers isn't so much about facing his own death, but of the philosophy he takes, and hopes others will take, about where he will "be" after death.
I take something away from both. When death comes for me, I hope to remember that it is natural, that no amount of argument will change it ("snaps the purse shut" is a great phrase). Like the message that is strong in Oliver's poem, I hope to accept it, and take the plunge with curiosity, as a last experience.
I don't expect any kind of afterlife. My reading of Jeffers is he didn't either.
"I wander in the air,
Being mostly gas and water"
It is in a way unexpected, that Jeffers was thinking more about those who remain that thinking of himself in his poem. Whereas Oliver is more thinking about it from her perspective. I see both as important to consider.
I figure I'll revert to the things that made me. Still atoms, mostly oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen but with no awareness as "Debi" at all. To paraphrase Carl Sagan, I'll be back to "stardust." Or, as Alan Watts used to answer the question "Where do we go when we die?" he answered "Where you were before you were born." I'd love to hear your thoughts, your expectations, @DAGray08.
P. S. Here's a link to the full Jeffers poem, https://allpoetry.com/Inscription-For-A-Gravestone
5DebiCates
>3 elenchus: I read that Spitzweg's Old Poet is beloved in Germany. In fact some thief stole it, and it hasn't been recovered. Stolen probably for its value, prestige, and as currency in some underworld of the rich.
Ironic, no?
That's another thing to love about poems. They can't be stolen like that. In fact, with only a little time spent memorizing, they can "belong" to anyone to carry always, without dark intrigue or threat of arrest.
Ironic, no?
That's another thing to love about poems. They can't be stolen like that. In fact, with only a little time spent memorizing, they can "belong" to anyone to carry always, without dark intrigue or threat of arrest.
