Don't Get Too Paltry

[poliphilo]

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,

Yeah, that's what I think too- only Yeats took it too far with that monkey gland treatment which turned him into a randy old muppet and probably killed him early. There's an art to growing old. You gotta let go, but not so your brain starts turning to porridge.  Listen, the world belongs to the young and anyone over a certain age ought to get out of the road and go sit under a bo-tree- but not so far out of the way as to be out of sight and hailing distance of passing traffic. There's this wisdom thing, see, and this death's head thing; both of which the old should cultivate and present to the young with a teasing smile so the young know they've got it coming.

Comments

Part 3

[ibid.livejournal.com]

Fool! All that is, at all,
Lasts ever, past recall;
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:
What entered into thee,
That was, is, and shall be:
Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure.

He fixed thee 'mid this dance
Of plastic circumstance,
This Present, thou, forsooth, would fain arrest:
Machinery just meant
To give thy soul its bent,
Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed.

What though the earlier grooves,
Which ran the laughing loves
Around thy base, no longer pause and press?
What though, about thy rim,
Skull-things in order grim
Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress?

Look not thou down but up!
To uses of a cup,
The festal board, lamp's flash, and trumpet's peal,
The new wine's foaming flow,
The master's lips aglow!
Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel?

But I need, now as then,
Thee, God, who moldest men;
And since, not even while the whirl was worst,
Did I- to the wheel of life
With shapes and colors rife,
Bound dizzily- mistake my end, to slake thy thirst:

So, take and use thy work:
Amend what flaws may lurk,
What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!
My times be in thy hand!
Perfect the cup as planned!
Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!

Re: Part 3

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

I love Browning- but I'd never read that one all the way through before. A bit knotty, ain't it? But I largely approve the sentiment.

Re: Part 3

[senordildo.livejournal.com]

John Lennon adapted some lines from this poem into a song with the same title. His "Grow Old with Me" only exists as a rough demo, since he died before he could do further work, but the recording is perfect as it is, and quite poignant.

Re: Part 3

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

It's a lovely little song.

And proof- if any were needed- that Lennon was still a creative force at the time of his death.