I like how it’s not about some important/famous figure who’s no longer with us, but just ordinary animals. Puts emphasis on the wonder piece as opposed to sorrow.
An elder, father perhaps? I love how he equates the human with the hare...acknowledging the loss of both (even in the same line) but focusing on the curiosity and wonder about what comes next for us all. Loved the gentle cadence of this poem, also - very soul soothing.
When people I know die, I wonder a lot of things, too, and it is not all tears and melancholy. I love his deference with the phrase "I ask"...as if he is begging our pardon for having these memory-notions and offering them up timidly to the reader for possible answers. Czeslaw Milosz is such a kindred spirit.
That last line takes my breath away...the depth of that wonder...as in awe, but also in curiosity and the gentle yet direct acknowledgement of the temporary nature of all things. And we are so there...with each detail! The hare, the wing, the pebbles...somehow managing to wrap all of us in the ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. It brings to mind the "gorgeous" snow forts my father and brothers and I made as children, decorated with stones and sticks and fall debris hidden under the snow, and flags of torn socks. They were so sturdy for such a short time and then...nothing. We are so lucky to be alive.
I love the comments, but I struggle with abstractions big time. I need a concrete frame of reference to understand the world around me, and once I establish that, I understand poems, and everything else much better.
I wish I could be moved by things like that poem, but I’m so deep in sheer survival mode right now that I can’t surface for air enough to enjoy the really beautiful things.
Annie Dillard once said that beauty will be there whether we are present to it or not and in the dark times it reminds me that I can focus on getting through the day and as those times shift and change all the beauty that had been present will be there waiting for me...with a kind of loyalty and trust. Wishing you kindness today in many forms. Maria
I'm so sorry, John. I've been there. I think don't even worry about wishing you could be moved by it - just do whatever you need to get through this period of time. I'm rooting for you!!
I got Substack yesterday after stumbling across Liz Gilbert's letters from love. I haven't made my profile yet, I don't even really understand how this works and this is the first comment section I've looked at. But my word, hats off to all of you. I can't believe there's a space on the internet where people are writing beautiful things for others. I've had my notebook out, writing little snippets down here and there. After the long famine of social media, places like this feel like soul food.
Thank you Susan for this hauntingly beautiful poem. My first impression was it was a child and a father looking back at how quickly life passes . It also illustrated the healing power of nature and the childhood gift of wonder . It touched me as I remembered brief past moments of awe in my own life. But the poem was really enriched by all the previous comments . I hope you highlight other poems in the future Susan. I feel like I arrived at a much deeper understanding of the poem, thanks to all the eloquent comments.
I somehow think the man 'who is no longer there' is the younger version of the narrator. And "my love" could be himself. It's a sweet memory of a time gone by and knowing one is not the same person as in younger days. And "where are they going" refers to the uncertain future and/or the mystery of death and afterlife.
The wisdom of the poem lies in the fact that we do not know who the old man and the love are – or what, for that matter. Everybody can fill in similar everyday encounters much more easily and readily, not knowing whether these are father and wife or even abstract ideas like the pre-war life and new-found peace or childhood guidance and personal adult freedom.
For me, this poem also speaks of the rather stable, immovable (frozen) life as a child, where much is decided by other people, teaching us and pointing out life for us. The goal is to lead us towards the dawning of a new period in our life, a new found life of self-determined adulthood.
Gone is the light-heartedness of life (hare) and the clear guidance (old man), but what I found is my love. Thus, I feel no sorrow about the loss, just wonder.
Poetry allows us to express so much more than prose ever will. It paints images, and those images speak to the reader in ways the poet never expected or intended.
I think back to times I once knew, my people brought Christmas trees out of the woods with horses, it’s much easier on the woods. I suppose my uncle George would have marked the spot to go back after that hare for our supper, when he didn’t have us kids in tow. I suppose I would ask my husband, where do these memories go should I begin to lose them?
Thank you for sharing this stunning poem Susan. I love this piece and so many of the comments below, especially the use of the word bittersweet, which is how I felt reading it. I imagine the hand belongs to this person's father, sitting at the front of the wagon, the mother beside him. The boy, now grown, is perhaps asking his own life partner for help in trying to understand where those people, that moment, even the hare have gone. Wouldn't we all like to know the answer to this most mysterious of mysteries.
In a universe of >13,000,000,000 years, our 80 years...
which is >29,000 days, >700,000 hours, 42 million minutes...
we remember the minute we met our life's partner, the minute we lost our first parent, the minute we lost our second parent. But we also remember the minute when we received a comment from a junior high school classmate, or the minute when we sat down in a subway next to a stranger never to be seen again.
We have so many minutes but so few years. What is the significance of any minute? "I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder."
The contemplation of what is on the other side of death. So often it happens, as if death is inevitable. Instead of here or there, earth or heaven, physical reality or energetic existence, what if it was possible to thrive in more than one realm/dimension/overlay at a time? What if the physical form didn't have to cease to exist? What if we could enjoy the best and the worst that all, all of reality has to offer? Yes, we should wonder where they've gone. And not just wonder, not even just seek, but find where they have gone. And be there and here.. Both. And. More.
I like how it’s not about some important/famous figure who’s no longer with us, but just ordinary animals. Puts emphasis on the wonder piece as opposed to sorrow.
An elder, father perhaps? I love how he equates the human with the hare...acknowledging the loss of both (even in the same line) but focusing on the curiosity and wonder about what comes next for us all. Loved the gentle cadence of this poem, also - very soul soothing.
When people I know die, I wonder a lot of things, too, and it is not all tears and melancholy. I love his deference with the phrase "I ask"...as if he is begging our pardon for having these memory-notions and offering them up timidly to the reader for possible answers. Czeslaw Milosz is such a kindred spirit.
that's how I feel about him, too.
That last line takes my breath away...the depth of that wonder...as in awe, but also in curiosity and the gentle yet direct acknowledgement of the temporary nature of all things. And we are so there...with each detail! The hare, the wing, the pebbles...somehow managing to wrap all of us in the ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. It brings to mind the "gorgeous" snow forts my father and brothers and I made as children, decorated with stones and sticks and fall debris hidden under the snow, and flags of torn socks. They were so sturdy for such a short time and then...nothing. We are so lucky to be alive.
goosebumps - thank you, Maria!
I love the comments, but I struggle with abstractions big time. I need a concrete frame of reference to understand the world around me, and once I establish that, I understand poems, and everything else much better.
I wish I could be moved by things like that poem, but I’m so deep in sheer survival mode right now that I can’t surface for air enough to enjoy the really beautiful things.
Annie Dillard once said that beauty will be there whether we are present to it or not and in the dark times it reminds me that I can focus on getting through the day and as those times shift and change all the beauty that had been present will be there waiting for me...with a kind of loyalty and trust. Wishing you kindness today in many forms. Maria
I know you are not alone. Not sure that helps at the moment. The only way through is through.
That’s the only way for me to go through it.
I'm so sorry, John. I've been there. I think don't even worry about wishing you could be moved by it - just do whatever you need to get through this period of time. I'm rooting for you!!
I got Substack yesterday after stumbling across Liz Gilbert's letters from love. I haven't made my profile yet, I don't even really understand how this works and this is the first comment section I've looked at. But my word, hats off to all of you. I can't believe there's a space on the internet where people are writing beautiful things for others. I've had my notebook out, writing little snippets down here and there. After the long famine of social media, places like this feel like soul food.
Yes!! And welcome!! And I do think our Quiet Life people are especially extraordinary.:) You will have to take your notebook out quite often.
Thank you! Glad to be here :)
When we rest with our memories that have brought us wonder, we recreate that wonder into the present moment.
Thank you Susan for this hauntingly beautiful poem. My first impression was it was a child and a father looking back at how quickly life passes . It also illustrated the healing power of nature and the childhood gift of wonder . It touched me as I remembered brief past moments of awe in my own life. But the poem was really enriched by all the previous comments . I hope you highlight other poems in the future Susan. I feel like I arrived at a much deeper understanding of the poem, thanks to all the eloquent comments.
thank you for telling me - I will def share more!
I somehow think the man 'who is no longer there' is the younger version of the narrator. And "my love" could be himself. It's a sweet memory of a time gone by and knowing one is not the same person as in younger days. And "where are they going" refers to the uncertain future and/or the mystery of death and afterlife.
The wisdom of the poem lies in the fact that we do not know who the old man and the love are – or what, for that matter. Everybody can fill in similar everyday encounters much more easily and readily, not knowing whether these are father and wife or even abstract ideas like the pre-war life and new-found peace or childhood guidance and personal adult freedom.
For me, this poem also speaks of the rather stable, immovable (frozen) life as a child, where much is decided by other people, teaching us and pointing out life for us. The goal is to lead us towards the dawning of a new period in our life, a new found life of self-determined adulthood.
Gone is the light-heartedness of life (hare) and the clear guidance (old man), but what I found is my love. Thus, I feel no sorrow about the loss, just wonder.
Poetry allows us to express so much more than prose ever will. It paints images, and those images speak to the reader in ways the poet never expected or intended.
I think back to times I once knew, my people brought Christmas trees out of the woods with horses, it’s much easier on the woods. I suppose my uncle George would have marked the spot to go back after that hare for our supper, when he didn’t have us kids in tow. I suppose I would ask my husband, where do these memories go should I begin to lose them?
Can I also ask Susan, Which of Czeslaw Milosz's books you would recommend. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with his work. Thank you.
I will share more of his poetry here!
Try "And Yet the Books" - which I actually shared here a while ago.
More to come!
(I don't actually have any of his collections, so I'm not sure which one to recommend.)
Thank you for sharing this stunning poem Susan. I love this piece and so many of the comments below, especially the use of the word bittersweet, which is how I felt reading it. I imagine the hand belongs to this person's father, sitting at the front of the wagon, the mother beside him. The boy, now grown, is perhaps asking his own life partner for help in trying to understand where those people, that moment, even the hare have gone. Wouldn't we all like to know the answer to this most mysterious of mysteries.
In a universe of >13,000,000,000 years, our 80 years...
which is >29,000 days, >700,000 hours, 42 million minutes...
we remember the minute we met our life's partner, the minute we lost our first parent, the minute we lost our second parent. But we also remember the minute when we received a comment from a junior high school classmate, or the minute when we sat down in a subway next to a stranger never to be seen again.
We have so many minutes but so few years. What is the significance of any minute? "I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder."
What an incredible thought, so beautifully expressed, Ray.
The contemplation of what is on the other side of death. So often it happens, as if death is inevitable. Instead of here or there, earth or heaven, physical reality or energetic existence, what if it was possible to thrive in more than one realm/dimension/overlay at a time? What if the physical form didn't have to cease to exist? What if we could enjoy the best and the worst that all, all of reality has to offer? Yes, we should wonder where they've gone. And not just wonder, not even just seek, but find where they have gone. And be there and here.. Both. And. More.