Friday, August 23, 2019<\/p>\n
\u201cYoung as she is, the stuff
\nOf her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:<\/p>\n
I wish her a lucky passage.\u201d<\/p>\n
Students moved into our residence halls these past several days. \u00a0Moms and Dads and students hauling bedroom and study room stuff onto and off elevators. \u00a0Settling in; \u00a0a new year. \u00a0Next Monday morning the classes\u00a0for Term One, 2019-20 begin. \u00a0The parking lots get crowded.<\/p>\n
Richard Wilbur\u2019s \u201cThe Writer\u201d speaks to the hopes and restraints of parents as their children launch themselves out into a wider world. \u00a0The verse that leads this post comes three stanzas in (see just above), such a fine blessing when helping the leap out from home.<\/p>\n
Best to read the poem out loud, \u00a0with pauses. \u00a0 Blessings on our new term.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
john sj<\/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 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 23, 2019 \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 Students moved into our residence halls these past several days. \u00a0Moms and … 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