Dear Reader,
Love letters and postcards
The poem I am introducing today is about throwing things away and it seems to have been one of the most popular poems I have ever written! For myself throwing things away causes much heartbreak but, as you get older it is essential. I am 81 and so don't have years to count on and feel that I must leave everything in order for my daughters to deal with. But it is so hard. I do have dance tickets from the 1950s and can remember the excitement I had dressing for the occasion. I have hand-written novels I wrote which nobody published and lots of letters from friends of both sexes. And various ornaments and pieces of jewellery, not of any monetary value but precious to me. But these things don't mean anything to my family, they are memories I hold in my heart, solely mine.
So I have filled plenty of black bags, and run down to the bins to throw them in the day before the dustbin is due to be taken away. It is the right thing to do I am sure, but nevertheless I feel a sadness which doesn't go away.
*
From Gilbert White, 1771, in Hampshire. March 30th
'The face of the earth naked to a surprising degree. Wheat hardly to be seen, and no signs of any grass: turneps all gone, and sheep in a starving way. All provisions rising in price. Farmers cannot sow for want of rain.'
'Nuthatch brings out and cracks her nuts, and strews the garden walks with shells. They fix them in a fork of a tree where two boughs meet - on the Orleans plum tree.'
*
Throwing Away
the letters,
those billets doux
the photographs,
the dance programmes,
the theatre tickets,
the postcards,
is a formidable task,
and weeping is not forbidden,
Before discarding
those once precious things
the proof of special moments
lived in earlier times,
memorise them all with care.
And afterwards, relive
this solitary, remembered road,
and weeping is not forbidden.
*
With very best wishes, Patricia
No comments:
Post a Comment