Mesz, Gia

English

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  Jayber’s Poem, Inspired by Wendell Berry’s novel Jayber Crow  (Poetry)  To those about to deconstruct or analyze Their wisp of life on earth: Take heed,  Lest ye interpret your self As something understandable.  To you I say:  What do you make  Of love That floats, unspoken That settles between Old friends That stands at the threshold, But never takes a chair?  Have you met the irony Of a death bed In a living room?  See how souls are carried away, How the grain has turned silver, Heads speckled by the sun: Squeamish boys Now dignified men— Their laughing eyes Sober, Accepting, Resigned. They drop dollars on the tobacco box  On their way To the grave: ‘A clean cut,’ they say  To the Death Barber.  Speak, if you have understanding: Is the river youthful, Or is it an ‘other,’ An old man like me? Is the water new, Or does it recall What was borrowed in the floods? If the water is old, Does it carry inside it   The memory of the ground it bore away To make room for its younger self? For I remember what I have borne away, And that makes me think  That there can only be The one river.  Look into my face, At the husk That holds me together. Can you measure a life In lines and freckles?  Do my eyes still tell the Old  Familiar Story Of a lamb without sight Who wandered in the valley Til he collapsed in the rain And had to be carried The rest of the way Home?  I’ve felt Love, And it’s carried me to the  Edge    of      the        world.  I do dishonor to this Beauty, For I fail to love it as I would And it breaks me. And yet I’d not abandon this post For anything, For the brokenness of my own heart Is a small price to pay That Love might go on in this world.  Analyze my life, if you can— Take my years in your hands And clench; But know that I’ve already Sought understanding  Of myself,   And that I know this man less Now At the end of the road.  My life has been Love.  And Loneliness.  I hope to be around When I die. To lie still, To become one more piece of furniture That folk can say, ‘Oh, that was lost in the flood.’  But I won’t be lost, Just buried ‘Neath the ripples of time; And when the waters still, maybe you’ll see me, Drifting by in the new old river Which will carry me To the edge of the world, Where Love lives.  What do you make of my life?  What do you make Of yours? 

Jayber\u27s Poem, Inspired by Wendell Berry\u27s Novel Jayber Crow

https://digitalcommons.lindenwood.edu/context/arrow_rock/article/1370/viewcontent/auto_convert.pdf

Jayber\u27s Poem, Inspired by Wendell Berry\u27s Novel Jayber Crow

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