In Memoriam

I could write of much today, the beginning of the school year, the unseasonably cool and pleasant weather we are having, the fury and destruction of Hurricane Charlie. There is much in one’s life of which to write. The subjects we choose for wordy embellishment are, perhaps, a reflection of one’s nature. Presuming that to be the case, one may then make the leap - albeit a large one, to be sure - to assume the subjects that garner the most words in the popular press are a reflection of the nature of the culture which supports that press.

It is the passing, in the same weekend, of Czeslaw Milosz and Julia Child which have caused me to pause and consider those people whom the populace of this nation revere. While I am certain Mrs. Child was a worthy influence on many people, I must still consider, in the scheme of things, in the relentless forward movement of life, which of these two will be of the most lasting and pervasive influence? And feeling, as I do, that the words of Czeslaw Milosz will inspire many future generations, long after Julia has passed gently into history, I am saddened that more was not made of his passing. In this part of this country, at least … down here on the bayou.

Or, to borrow from John Donne, "... any man's death diminishes me." But, admittedly, some more than others.

Having said that, I will say no more, but will, instead, conclude with a quote that presents a somewhat harsh critique ofwhat we choose to read and to write while paralleling my own intense comfort in finding poetry, late.

“What is poetry which does not save
Nations or people?
A connivance with official lies,
A song for drunkards whose throats will be cut in a moment,
readings for sophomore girls.
That I wanted good poetry without knowing it,
That I discovered, late, its salutary aim,
In this and only this I find salvation.”

from Dedication by Czeslaw Milosz, 1911-2004