Changes

I discovered one of my favorite poems from my college days when I was taking a British Lit class. It was actually introduced to me by a roommate previous to this class, and when I read it, I pretended I knew exactly what it was saying."Wow, that is really great." I told her. But I had no idea what it meant.

Until my British Lit class where I was assigned a small analysis presentation on the poem. After digging a little deeper, and understanding the context of the poem, I realized how great it really was.

This morning, we got the phone call from our landlady and neighbor who shares the duplex with us, that her husband passed away last night. These are the neighbor friends who helped the girls pick cherries from their tree, who would give them lemonade, who would say they wished their granddaughter came to visit more often and then give the girls stickers. As we got the news and I've noticed things out the window today, I recalled the poem and read it again. It so perfectly describes how one can suffer, while others (unaware) continue on with their lives--the parents walking their kids to the corner for the school bus; Georgie, the elderly lady who lives across the street, heading out in her white 1990 Volvo to who knows where; and our girls, playing and fighting and eating and whining and laughing and singing, as if nothing ever happened.

Musee des Beaux Arts

W. H. Auden

About suffering they were never wrong,
The old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

And for any of you who are in the boat that I was in--completely clueless as to what the poem says--here's a short explanation:

The title, Musee des Beaux Arts is referring to the Museum of Beautiful Art (my rough French translation). The poet is in the museum looking at two paintings: The Fall of Icarus by Pieter Breughel and another painting. He's mentioning all the things going on in the paintings, how life carries on and no one even notices the legs in the bottom right of the painting--Icarus from Greek mythology who had wings made of feathers and wax so he could escape Crete. His father warned him not to fly too close to the sun, but he disregarded his father's warning and his wings melted. He fell to the waters and drowned. And no one even noticed.

I find it interesting that our neighbor passed away last night with it being so close to Easter, our celebration of the resurrection. I think Sunday will seem a little more "real???" for us. This death is also so close to the birth of our new little one, and it makes me think of some more poetry--only this time put into music: Jack Johnson's "If I Could."

"If I Could"
A brand new baby was born yesterday
Just in time
Papa cried, baby cried
Said "Your tears are like mine"
I heard some words
From a friend on the phone
That didn't sound so good
The doctor gave him two weeks to live
I'd give him more if I could

You know that I would now
If only I could
You know that I would now
If only I could

Down the middle drops one more
Grain of sand
They say that
New life makes losing life easier to understand
Words are kind
They helped ease the mind
I'll miss my old friend
And though you gotta go
We'll keep a piece of your soul
One goes out
One comes in

You know that I would now
If only I could
You know that I would now
If only I could

Birth, death, life . . . lots to think about.

PS On a lighter note, we never found the mysterious stink, but after a thorough sniff test in each room, an extensive kitchen cleaning, and a little help of some lemon essential oil diffused into the air, the smell is gone. At least for now . . .