12 November 2018 – And So It Is – Not Done . . .

Life is not done, until it is. And at the end of the individual life, the universal life that contains every being – sentient and not – moves on. It is difficult for most people not to be greedy for more time. Even though endings are natural in our experience, many devise concepts and illusions to push back and say, not so – I will not end. Perhaps, it is the waiting that is most bothersome. Reality exists “as it is.” Yet, this suchness either is unbearable to see in its uncertain rawness, or it brings the greatest beauty and joy available to us. This dichotomy is undeniable. This poem attempts to capture the median experience – a sort if middle way.

and so, it is – not done . . .

part 1

no matter how many times

                        consummated

despite the rolling average decades

                        huddled together

                        

                        never long enough

                        for ripeness

regardless houses bought and sold

                        children raised              

despite anniversaries counted, memorials recalled

                        parents buried

                        refusal to grant credence

                        to tales of afterlife

stains and taints on the crooked heart

                        forever triggered

love won back with fervent flaming candles

                        bound to sputter                       

                        and so it is . . . not quite

                        and never, ever enough

not sweet-dark sweat nor sleeping

                        nor stars wished upon

neither miles’ passage nor counterclaims nor lies

                        nor oaths on crosses

                        no match for hallelujahs

                        despite accords reached and broken

no accusations proffered nor praises volunteered

                        make marble floors less hard for kneeling

                        or make them any more appealing

unreliable stale yeses drop graceless

                        from true-salt mouths

irretrievable nos overflow lips’ dams

                        over the edge of unfaithful tongues

                        never enough and too much

                        never done and done too soon

insufficient word-soldiers deployed too late

failed to arrive at the capitol’s gate

                        

                        thus it is completed

                        the matter not once done

                        nor sealed

                        nor consummated

                        part 2

while she waits up

            porch light glowing on again

                        as always

                        waiting

            for the finale never arriving

            driven hard by frost-mouthed mother

            close behind father flown away

                        uncharted

                        no plan for flight

neither even blowing kisses to their fell-dropped sons and daughters

                        huddled waiting

                        on their dull-lighted porches

                        for the sleeping watchman

                        with no letters or announcements

                        thus it is so

                        longer than never

                        a certainty with no resolve

thought sleeping partners will awake and be there

                        so near the truth

                        for those who sit

                        sit and wait

                                    the porch light burning

                                                hanging    waiting

                                                            for the messenger passing by

                                                            for word of what is and what is not

                                    for endurance to go on living what is yet to come

                                                            the one great thing

                                                            not done                      

Background

Much of living is about waiting – sometimes with the porch light on; sometimes in the dark; often enough under the warmth of a springtime sun. Knowing when one is waiting and when one is fully engaged is part of the strategy for addressing this paradox. Life is odd – full of wonder and delight one moment, and tragedy and sorrow the next. Fragility, thy name is being human. How to live with such experiential contradictions? I’ve been stewing over this poem since 2012, attempting to get the essence “just right.” How to explicate the parts of living that bring us pain, while welcoming parallel joy? The poem also contains more contrasts: 1) all the ways people attempt to “control” their lives with ritual and routine – kneeling, oaths on crosses, lit candles, and all the rest.

Part 1 of the poem sets the philosophical stage, whereas Part 2 makes that philosophy personal. Really, both parts explore the human experience in sequential time, as well as the never-stopping, unobstructed flow of past/present/future occurring simultaneously.

Exploration #1: Consider whether or not life experience is largely about “waiting.” How are we caught in the dualities of time – past present future, when if considered carefully enough, these three times are all one experience.

Exploration #2: What is the woman on the porch doing there, and what is she thinking?

Exploration #3: Take a deep dive into the title of the poem. How many ways are there to interpret the words and the punctuation?

Exploration #4: What’s up with the technique of using no capital letters anywhere in the poem? Challenge: See if you can find any caps? Prize for first person to do so.

Your Monday Poet, Jack Pine Savage