Even Grateful - June 18 2021

 

Even Grateful

June 18 2021

When the old man said

he had grown tired of the world

I wondered what he meant by it.

When you live long enough

doe the passion relent

novelty grow stale?

Have the aches and pains

taken all the pleasure away,

his failing heart betrayed him?

Has even curiosity

lost its spark?

Or could it be the world?

That too little has changed.

That the rivalries and prejudice

and flaws in human nature

stubbornly persist?

That injustice and inequality

have hardly diminished?

And that while he finds inspiration

in the virtuous and brave,

rampant cruelty and greed

still outweigh the good;

the suffering of the world

too much to take

for a sensitive man

so easily hurt.

Perhaps beauty and wonder

no longer touch him,

his sight slowly failing

world-weary mind

increasingly jaded.

Perhaps he no longer cares,

the belief and conviction

that drove the intense young man

having long since expired.

Or perhaps his loneliness

has become too hard to bear,

the love of his life

gone all these years.

It seem such a waste

to give up this way.

As the great poet once said

old age should burn and rave at close of day,

should rage, rage

and blaze like meteors.

But perhaps it's a mercy

the fight's gone out of him.

That we should all hope

to resign ourselves to fate

as gracefully as he has,

accepting

or even grateful

for whatever awaits.

His body to the grave

to be reclaimed by nature,

and the rest to posterity

where memory serves.

Because he knows

that while life must end

the spirit does not.

Or at least for as long

as his story is told

in reminiscence and myth,

his example inspires

and good works persist.

So he will go gently

and with grace.

He has had his fill of life

and is satisfied,

a fine ending

for a sensible man

who has taken his own measure

and knows when it's time.

Another of the Globe's personal essay feature – First Person – inspired this poem. Also on the theme of fatherhood. In this one – I See My Dad in the Bernie Meme (June 18 2021) – Jillian Stirk compares memories of her father to the widely shared image of Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders at the (first?) inauguration of Joe Biden, sitting legs and arms crossed on a folding chair in his famous hand-knit mitts and nondescript parka.

An interesting phrase in the following paragraph set me off, raising the question: at some point in the long arc of a life, is it natural to grow tired of the world? So I suppose I'm the anti-Dylan Thomas here, counselling graceful resignation in place of futile rage.

My dad never lost that passion either and he never grew tired of the world. As I ventured out, he relived his youth and travelled vicariously, craving my news of the far-flung places I called home. He was also endlessly patient, not least with me, his untameable daughter. Even when his health and mind failed, he could rally himself to help others. Sometimes reclusive and tired of his contemporaries complaining of their aches and pains, his face would light up for a young person. He could still turn on his unassuming charm when he wanted. “Bring your friends home,” he would say as if I were still a child.