*Memories are made of this:* As a young woman, I accompanied my beloved father on the piano. He was endowed with a rich “basso profuso” voice and sang a beautiful rendition of Invictus set to music.
The literary establishment rarely honours or helps young poets when they are young and could badly do with some financial encouragement in order to keep body and soul together. No, it's more likely to criticise their work. Then later, if those same poets are successful, but old and numb and weary from the long struggle to make it, the same literary establishment will step in and endeavour to steal the limelight by honouring them then. These were my thought when I read this - especially that astute last stanza:
Ah, so talented. But I feel for him that that was his experience of growing old. As Franz Kafka said, “Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.”
I am tossing about the turgid seas of senior aging, it isn’t pretty but it is good still to be in nature! The fight of it gives life; this is the not going gentle stage of human being.
That's certainly one way to look at it, albeit, the more common way I would imagine. What we lose each day. But that's tantamount to counting the blooms in the garden, one by one as they die until there are none left rather than enjoying each one as long as they last. There'll be time enough for mourning.
A fine poem, with a bleak view of age, diametrically opposed to mine. I am 77 and despite being a quadriplegic for almost 40 years, profoundly grateful for life's many gifts and surprises. And now I've just begun a new writing project, here on Substack. Yes, things change. I travel less than I used to. Today I sat in our front garden reading a book of poetry composed in lock-down; pausing to appreciate the flowers a metre away from my wheelchair.
Is 82 (my age-and-counting) the new 66 (Arnold’s age when he succumbed)?
Oh yes! I am familiar with all that Arnold poetically describes. But I too, like Henley (who managed to sluff off the mortal coil at 55) and all who subscribe to his philosophy, am determined to make my last years my personal INVICTUS in spite of it all…ALL things considered.
Growing old doesn't have to be a death sentence. Here in the west, age is associated with decline of health not just because of age but because of external factors like diet, stress, and lack of familial support. All of my grandparents and great grandparents are dead now, but they spent their later years surrounded by family free, from the ailments typically plaguing those who grow old in western society, and quite active despite their age. As for beauty, I don't think we lose our beauty as we get older, I think it just changes.
Mr. Arnold should have read the words of his contemporary.
INVICTUS
William Ernest Henley
1849 –1903
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
*Memories are made of this:* As a young woman, I accompanied my beloved father on the piano. He was endowed with a rich “basso profuso” voice and sang a beautiful rendition of Invictus set to music.
The literary establishment rarely honours or helps young poets when they are young and could badly do with some financial encouragement in order to keep body and soul together. No, it's more likely to criticise their work. Then later, if those same poets are successful, but old and numb and weary from the long struggle to make it, the same literary establishment will step in and endeavour to steal the limelight by honouring them then. These were my thought when I read this - especially that astute last stanza:
'It is - last stage of all –
When we are frozen up within, and quite
The phantom of ourselves,
To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Which blamed the living man.'
What I say is, bring back Lady Gregory! We could all do with one of her.
Ah, so talented. But I feel for him that that was his experience of growing old. As Franz Kafka said, “Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.”
I am tossing about the turgid seas of senior aging, it isn’t pretty but it is good still to be in nature! The fight of it gives life; this is the not going gentle stage of human being.
That's certainly one way to look at it, albeit, the more common way I would imagine. What we lose each day. But that's tantamount to counting the blooms in the garden, one by one as they die until there are none left rather than enjoying each one as long as they last. There'll be time enough for mourning.
I cannot disagree from my now 7th floor view of this fragile, precious mystery ….
“Fragile, precious mystery” indeed!🔥
indeed! 😌
A fine poem, with a bleak view of age, diametrically opposed to mine. I am 77 and despite being a quadriplegic for almost 40 years, profoundly grateful for life's many gifts and surprises. And now I've just begun a new writing project, here on Substack. Yes, things change. I travel less than I used to. Today I sat in our front garden reading a book of poetry composed in lock-down; pausing to appreciate the flowers a metre away from my wheelchair.
Sorry Arnold, I'm 64, semi-retired, and loving life. It's a beautiful, sunny Fall day, and I intend to make the most of it! ❤️
Is 82 (my age-and-counting) the new 66 (Arnold’s age when he succumbed)?
Oh yes! I am familiar with all that Arnold poetically describes. But I too, like Henley (who managed to sluff off the mortal coil at 55) and all who subscribe to his philosophy, am determined to make my last years my personal INVICTUS in spite of it all…ALL things considered.
A hollow ghost indeed. Why cultivating our life force and mindset is the only prescription the eternally young will ever need!
Growing old doesn't have to be a death sentence. Here in the west, age is associated with decline of health not just because of age but because of external factors like diet, stress, and lack of familial support. All of my grandparents and great grandparents are dead now, but they spent their later years surrounded by family free, from the ailments typically plaguing those who grow old in western society, and quite active despite their age. As for beauty, I don't think we lose our beauty as we get older, I think it just changes.
On Waking Up Old
Ah time, how terrible
You are, how beautiful,
That you have taken me,
That you have chastened me.
Ah time, how beautiful
Thou art, how terrible!
That makes the insides crawl up my back and feed those stubborn insecurities
That's a banger.
Oh, dear. And yet . . .
It is true, I didn't want to read it but it's true
Or could it be a self-fulfilling prophesy?