Friday, August 11 \u00a0 \u201cYoung as she is, the stuff
\nOf her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
\nI wish her a lucky passage.\u201d<\/p>\n
Richard Wilbur wrote this poem about his young daughter, as she labored to write important words, \u00a0in 1921. \u00a0The date matters. \u00a01921 falls early in one of the meanest short stretches of fear and anger in U.S. history. \u00a0House to house raids by the federal government in violation of citizen constitutional rights (wiki \u201cPalmer raids\u201d), \u00a0anti-immigration undoing of the promise that had come to define The Statue of Liberty, tear gas training for police forces trying to contain street riots, 1924 the high water mark of the Ku Klux Klan\u2019s numbers and power, and of the number of lynchings of black people. \u00a0Fear and anger and more fear. \u00a0For cause: \u00a0World War I\u2019s chemical weapons did not kill all the wounded; lovely young people who went off to war with innocent energy returned maimed, stumbling through the streets of their home towns.<\/p>\n
This 90 year old historical context helps me read Richard Wilbur\u2019s lyrical love poem to his daughter with some awareness of courage in a hard time: \u00a0her courage as she labors to write something that matters and her dad\u2019s courage to write her story. \u00a0Would these two writers, one generation apart, imagine some of us 2017 citizens finding stillness and a moment to read what he wrote about her? \u00a0Probably yes, they both show strong imaginations.<\/p>\n
Friday in the 2nd week of August on a university campus. \u00a0Lots of courage here too as women and men work to prepare for this year\u2019s students who are coming soon. \u00a0 Best to read the poem out loud, \u00a0with pauses.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Have a blest weekend.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
john sj<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Today\u2019s Post \u00a0\u201cthe writer\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n In her room at the prow of the house I pause in the stairwell, hearing Young as she is, the stuff But now it is she who pauses, The whole house seems to be thinking, I remember the dazed starling And retreated, not to affright it; And iridescent creature And wait then, humped and bloody, It lifted off from a chair-back, It is always a matter, my darling, \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0richard wilbur \u00a0March 1, 1921 \u00a0\u2013<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n About Wilbur\u2019s poems, one reviewer for\u00a0The Washington Post\u00a0said, \u201cThroughout his career Wilbur has shown, within the compass of his classicism, enviable variety. His poems describe fountains and fire trucks, grasshoppers and toads, European cities and country pleasures. All of them are easy to read, while being suffused with an astonishing verbal music and a compacted thoughtfulness that invite sustained reflection.\u201d \u00a0{poets.org<\/a>}<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Friday, August 11 \u00a0 \u201cYoung as she is, the stuff Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy: I wish her a lucky passage.\u201d Richard Wilbur wrote this poem about his young daughter, as she labored … Continue reading
\nWhere light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
\nMy daughter is writing a story.<\/p>\n
\nFrom her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
\nLike a chain hauled over a gunwale.<\/p>\n
\nOf her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
\nI wish her a lucky passage.<\/p>\n
\nAs if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
\nA stillness greatens, in which<\/p>\n
\nAnd then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
\nOf strokes, and again is silent.<\/p>\n
\nWhich was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
\nHow we stole in, lifted a sash<\/p>\n
\nAnd how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
\nWe watched the sleek, wild, dark<\/p>\n
\nBatter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
\nTo the hard floor, or the desk-top,<\/p>\n
\nFor the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
\nRose when, suddenly sure,<\/p>\n
\nBeating a smooth course for the right window
\nAnd clearing the sill of the world.<\/p>\n
\nOf life or death, as I had forgotten.\u00a0I wish
\nWhat I wished you before, but harder.<\/p>\n