J.V. Cunningham

TO MY WIFE

And does the heart grow old? You know
In the indiscriminate green
Of summer or in earliest snow
A landscape is another scene,


Inchoate and anonymous,
And every rock and bush and drift
As our affections alter us
Will alter with the season’s shift.


So love by love we come at last,
As through the exclusions of a rhyme,
Or the exactions of a past,
To the simplicity of time,


The antiquity of grace, where yet
We live in terror and delight
With love as quiet as regret
And love like anger in the night

******
Poems like this make me believe that something of love can be captured.

New year?

The new year always brings with it the question- well what's new? Truth is-nothing is. I was sick this new year like the year before last and the year before that (someone is clealry trying to tell me something, I'm just not sure what that is) I had initially decided I would start the new year blog post with resolutions and good intentions and all kinds of crap we say and do to make ourselves feel better about what is actually a depressing milestone, but I think after years of trying (ok not so much) I have come to the slightly delayed conclusion that all these parties and celebrations have begun to pale. I watched the news segment-lights exploding everywhere as people screamed the countdown and I just felt a little amused. They'll do it the next year and the year after that and the year after that.. and so on. I felt wonderfully cynical in my old DU sweatshirt about being a little miss know it all. But the truth is, life is depressing and there is no fun in knowing anything at all.