Sophie
Miriam
Dec 12 2013
My
nephew
is
a new father.
A
baby
who
has thrilled everyone,
placid
amidst
all
the flutter and fuss.
A
girl, in a family of boys,
full
of wonder
that
such a strange creature
has
appeared among us.
So
we recalibrate our identities,
as
the generations
ratchet
up a notch.
My
delighted older brother,
who
feels too young
to
be the grandfather.
His
other sons,
now
uncles
but
hardly avuncular.
And
I, a great uncle
who
wasn’t much of an uncle at all,
proclaimed
“great”
by
simply waiting
while
everyone else grew up.
I
realize
she’ll
be a young lady
when
I am old and frail.
When
I will be a vague presence,
a
shadowy planet
in
irregular orbit
in
the outer reaches of her solar system,
and
she will know, in some out-of-focus way
we
are related,
but
not quite sure.
Like
my parents’ aged relations,
who
visited rarely
and
whom I never quite placed,
living
faraway
somewhere
west.
Of
whom all I remember
is
old people smell,
the
cloying sweetness
of
too much perfume.
The
fastidious nose
of
solipsistic youth.
A
newborn child
is
like a cooling planet
at
the beginning of time,
unformed
and
infinitely malleable.
A
primordial earth,
with
all the makings
of
intelligent life.
While
for me, if not the rest
gravity
is waning.
Pushed
closer to the past, than the future
I
feel left behind,
a
background grey
to
her brilliant newness.
My
joy, tinged with sadness
to
be a minor asteroid
around
a golden sun,
circling
even further out.
I
apologize for this poem. Talk about solipsistic! It seems terribly
unworthy to write a poem about my beaming nephew's newborn daughter,
and then descend into self-pity over my age, which is merely a state
of mind; or over my peripheral involvement, which is wholly
self-inflicted.
(Not to mention I may also be guilty of torturing that astronomical metaphor!)
Still, I think "tinged with sadness" is generally valid, if left mostly unsaid. We all re-calibrate. A new generation slightly displaces the last. And I know my brother does not want anyone to refer to him as a "grandfather", delighted as he is to be one.
Anyway, this is where my stream of consciousness took me. So as unflattering as it may be, there must be some truth here. I vaguely remember great uncles and aunts. Or second cousins. Or whatevers once removed. They infrequently visited on important family occasions, but I never really knew where they or I fit in. All I remember is they were usually quite old (which doesn't seem nearly so old now!), and a bit alien. So the realization hits home that I will be a vague presence somewhere out in the dark reaches of her outer solar system. That I will be an old man when she comes of age, and this is the only way she will know me. (Although I will try hard not to smell bad!)
I actually think this is a generous exercise, as much as it is self-involved: that is, to momentarily displace oneself from the centre of the universe, and inhabit someone else's world view. And it’s not that I resent the young, or envy them their youth: because we were all young once; because we all briefly got to be the apple of everyone's eye; and because in the long view of a nihilist like me, we are all contemporaneous -- the distinction between young and old is a mere conceit, so fleeting as to be meaningless. And ultimately, in taking joy, I get to inhabit her newness as well.
So while my descent into solipsism may seem churlish and self-absorbed, it is only one small part of how I feel. But the part worth writing about; since the shared joy is so obvious and universal that it's all been said before. And anyway, I'm not sure I can write a celebratory poem (the "occasional poem", as it is formally called) without becoming overly-sentimental and clichéd. In my hands, it will probably come out more like a Hallmark card than poetry!
(Not to mention I may also be guilty of torturing that astronomical metaphor!)
Still, I think "tinged with sadness" is generally valid, if left mostly unsaid. We all re-calibrate. A new generation slightly displaces the last. And I know my brother does not want anyone to refer to him as a "grandfather", delighted as he is to be one.
Anyway, this is where my stream of consciousness took me. So as unflattering as it may be, there must be some truth here. I vaguely remember great uncles and aunts. Or second cousins. Or whatevers once removed. They infrequently visited on important family occasions, but I never really knew where they or I fit in. All I remember is they were usually quite old (which doesn't seem nearly so old now!), and a bit alien. So the realization hits home that I will be a vague presence somewhere out in the dark reaches of her outer solar system. That I will be an old man when she comes of age, and this is the only way she will know me. (Although I will try hard not to smell bad!)
I actually think this is a generous exercise, as much as it is self-involved: that is, to momentarily displace oneself from the centre of the universe, and inhabit someone else's world view. And it’s not that I resent the young, or envy them their youth: because we were all young once; because we all briefly got to be the apple of everyone's eye; and because in the long view of a nihilist like me, we are all contemporaneous -- the distinction between young and old is a mere conceit, so fleeting as to be meaningless. And ultimately, in taking joy, I get to inhabit her newness as well.
So while my descent into solipsism may seem churlish and self-absorbed, it is only one small part of how I feel. But the part worth writing about; since the shared joy is so obvious and universal that it's all been said before. And anyway, I'm not sure I can write a celebratory poem (the "occasional poem", as it is formally called) without becoming overly-sentimental and clichéd. In my hands, it will probably come out more like a Hallmark card than poetry!
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