Book Read Free

Coming to Age

Page 1

by Carolyn Hopley




  Copyright

  Compilation of text and Author Materials

  (excluding public domain poems and licensed poems credited in the permissions) copyright © 2020 by Mary Ann Hoberman and Carolyn Hopley

  Cover design by Mario J. Pulice

  Cover photograph © Hiroshi Higuchi / Getty Images

  Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  ISBN 978-0-316-42492-9

  E3-20200312-JV-NF-ORI

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Editors’ Preface

  1. “YOU READING THIS, BE READY”

  William Stafford: You Reading This, Be Ready

  Linda Pastan: A Glass of Cold Water

  W. S. Merwin: Dew Light

  Louise Glück: Lament

  Jeffrey Harrison: Enough

  Ursula K. Le Guin: My Birthday Present

  Jane Hirshfield: The Decision

  Stanley Kunitz: The Round

  2. “THE SOUND OF TIME”

  William Stafford: Fall Wind

  Theodore Roethke: Slow Season

  Clive James: Season to Season

  Elaine Feinstein: Long Life

  William Stafford: The Way It Is

  Eleanor Lerman: Starfish

  Elizabeth Alexander: Alice at One Hundred and Two

  W. H. Auden: Posthumous Letter to Gilbert White

  Jorge Luis Borges: Ars Poetica

  C. P. Cavafy: Ithaca

  Margaret Randall: Immigration Law

  3. “THE GRACE OF THE WORLD”

  Wallace Stevens: Sunday Morning (excerpt)

  Jim Harrison: Bridge

  Wendell Berry: The Peace of Wild Things

  Walt Whitman: Night on the Prairies

  Debora Greger: To an Eastern Bluebird

  Bronislaw Maj: A Leaf

  Gerard Manley Hopkins: Binsey Poplars

  Denise Levertov: Threat

  John Hollander: An Old-Fashioned Song

  Philip Booth: Species

  Kurt Vonnegut: Requiem

  A. R. Ammons: Gravelly Run

  Kathleen Raine: Winter Paradise

  Zbigniew Herbert: Pebble

  Robert Frost: Dust of Snow

  4. “BODY MY HOUSE”

  May Swenson: Question

  Joyce Sutphen: Living in the Body

  Diane Louie: Sunset from the Window of a Rented Summer House

  Grace Paley: Here

  W. D. Snodgrass: Lasting

  Thomas Lynch: Refusing at Fifty-Two to Write Sonnets

  W. B. Yeats: A Song

  Carol Ann Duffy: Mrs Rip Van Winkle

  Muriel Rukeyser: Myth

  Marjorie Agosín: Mi Estomago (My Belly)

  Han Yu: Losing My Teeth

  Hyam Plutzik: Cancer and Nova

  Wendell Berry: The Burial of the Old

  5. “THE GRAND AND DAMAGING PARADE”

  Kay Ryan: Things Shouldn’t Be So Hard

  Edna St. Vincent Millay: Dirge Without Music

  Marie Ponsot: Orphaned Old

  A. R. Ammons: In View of the Fact

  Gavin Ewart: The Last Things

  Elizabeth Bishop: One Art

  Dylan Thomas: Do Not Go Gentle into That

  Good Night

  Emily Dickinson: Those–dying then

  Wendell Berry: Except

  Mary Ann Hoberman: Mary No More

  Ted Kooser: Father

  Seamus Heaney: Clearances (excerpt)

  Lucille Clifton: oh antic God

  Wislawa Szymborska: Parting with a View

  Alice Walker: “Good Night, Willie Lee, I’ll See You in the Morning”

  6. “INTIMATIONS OF MORTALITY”

  Mary Ann Hoberman: Finally

  John Ashbery: Fear of Death

  Philip Larkin: Aubade

  Langston Hughes: As Befits a Man

  Clive James: Star System

  Wallace Stevens: The Snow Man

  John Hall Wheelock: Intimations of Mortality

  Maxwell Bodenheim: Old Age

  W. S. Merwin: For the Anniversary of My Death

  Linda Pastan: The Cossacks

  Wislawa Szymborska: A Contribution to Statistics

  Ursula K. Le Guin: In the Borderlands

  7. “YES, THAT WAS I”

  Hilda Morley: I Begin to Love

  Ted Kooser: That Was I

  W. B. Yeats: After Long Silence

  Stanley Kunitz: I Dreamed That I Was Old

  Robert Frost: Carpe Diem

  Wendell Berry: They

  W. B. Yeats: Why Should Not Old Men Be Mad?

  Billy Collins: Forgetfulness

  Bill Knott: There’s the Rub

  Richard Eberhart: Youth and Age

  Archibald MacLeish: With Age Wisdom

  8. “A SOLACE OF RIPE PLUMS”

  Tony Hoagland: Quiet

  Richard Wilbur: A Finished Man

  Robert Frost: Provide, Provide

  William Meredith: Country Stars

  Kay Ryan: Why We Must Struggle

  Tomas Tranströmer: Allegro

  William Carlos Williams: To a Poor Old Woman

  Billy Collins: Consolation

  Derek Walcott: Untitled #51

  Janet Lewis: Out of a Dark Wood

  9. “LATE RIPENESS”

  D. H. Lawrence: Beautiful Old Age

  Elaine Feinstein: Getting Older

  Grace Paley: Hand-Me-Downs

  Ogden Nash: Old Is for Books

  Robert Browning: Rabbi Ben Ezra (excerpt)

  Kathian Poulton: Untitled

  C. K. Williams: Glass

  Anacreon: Youthful Eld

  Czeslaw Milosz: Late Ripeness

  Mary Ann Hoberman: Reconsideration

  Molly Peacock: A Face, a Cup

  Ralph Waldo Emerson: Terminus

  Langston Hughes: Mother to Son

  10. “GLAD TO THE BRINK OF FEAR”

  Wendell Berry: Why

  Ron Padgett: Words from the Front

  W. S. Merwin: One of the Butterflies

  Denise Levertov: Joy

  Elizabeth Bishop: Sonnet

  William Stafford: Any Morning

  Gunilla Norris: Good

  Li-Young Lee: From Blossoms

  Marianne Moore: What Are Years?

  Billy Collins: Today

  Alicia Ostriker: The Blessing of the Old Woman, the Tulip, and the Dog

  11. “TOWARD WHAT UNDREAMT CONDITION”
r />   Emily Dickinson: This World is not Conclusion

  Jalal al-Din Rumi: Wean Yourself

  Adrienne Rich: Final Notations

  Raymond Carver: The Window

  Louise Glück: The Night Migrations

  W. B. Yeats: Sailing to Byzantium

  Richard Wilbur: A Measuring Worm

  Louise Glück: Vespers

  Alan Dugan: Note: The Sea Grinds Things Up

  Albert Goldbarth: The Way

  A. R. Ammons: The City Limits

  12. “NOW FOR LUNCH”

  Kay Ryan: Least Action

  Derek Walcott: Love After Love

  D. H. Lawrence: A Living

  Wallace Stevens: The Well Dressed Man with a Beard

  W. H. Auden: After Reading a Child’s Guide to Modern Physics

  Wislawa Szymborska: The End and the Beginning

  E. E. Cummings: love is a place

  Ted Kooser: The Leaky Faucet

  Kay Ryan: Ticket

  John Hall Wheelock: To You, Perhaps Yet Unborn

  William Meredith: The Cheer

  Ron Padgett: The Death Deal

  Billy Collins: Days

  Langston Hughes: Advice

  Acknowledgments

  Discover More

  Permissions

  About the Poets

  To our readers:

  May poetry enrich their lives,

  as it has ours,

  as they come to age.

  Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.

  Tap here to learn more.

  INTRODUCTION

  This book started with a single, simple idea. We would gather together a group of poems that dealt with the subject of age and aging. Because we ourselves had found inspiration and joy in poetry throughout our lives, we thought that others would, too, particularly if it dealt with the existential questions that occupy us ever more urgently as we grow older.

  The title came to us as a play on words. The familiar expression “coming of age” refers to that stage of life when one enters into adulthood, leaving youth for maturity. Coming to age suggests something other, an arrival rather than a departure. Entering this last stage, each newcomer may experience it differently. Yeats dwelled on his lost youth; Milosz celebrated his newfound fellowship.

  If we are fortunate enough to live into our later years, we come to know what old age is firsthand. What does that mean? We have or will soon become founding members of the “old old,” now the fastest growing segment of the over-sixty-five population. At eighty the novelist Penelope Lively wrote: “Our experience is one unknown to most of humanity, over time. We are the pioneers.” And if we are pioneers, we owe it to those who follow to make something worthwhile of our good fortune.

  Just as we read newspapers for news of the world, we read poetry for news of ourselves. Poets, particularly those who have lived and written into old age, have much to tell us. But along with acquiring new insights from their poems, we are reminded of what we already know. A line, a phrase, or even a single word, placed in the right context, can illuminate some part of our own experience, revealing a deeper significance, even a spiritual sustenance.

  Reading these poems, we are joined to others whose lives span place and time. We discover unexpected connections in our common humanity. Topics that might not be brought up in everyday conversation can be alluded to in the metaphoric and distilled language of poetry. The late Adrienne Rich put it this way: “Wherever I turn these days, I’m looking, as from the corner of my eye, for a certain kind of poetry whose balance of dread and beauty is equal to the chaotic negations that pursue us… A complex, dialogic, coherent poetry to dissolve both complacency and despair.”

  A “poetry to dissolve both complacency and despair”… that is what we have tried to present in this anthology. The current clichés—Live in the moment; Cultivate acceptance; Keep busy—are only generalities, thin gruel all. A poem is substantial. It conveys one individual’s particular experience in language. It is as much an object as a painting or a piece of music, using words as its medium. And like other art objects, it can become a precious talisman.

  This last period of our lives can be many things. It can be a time of harvesting, of gathering together the various strands of our past and weaving them into a coherent fabric. It can also be a new beginning, an exploration of the unknown. We speak of “growing old.” And indeed we are growing, growing into a new stage of life, one that can be a fulfillment of all that has come before. To everything there is a season. Poetry speaks to them all.

  —Mary Ann Hoberman and Carolyn Hopley, editors

  EDITORS’ PREFACE

  Compiling this anthology was a joyous task. We read several thousand poems to arrive at the present collection. In winnowing them down to a final number, we had to omit dozens of equally good and relevant poems, both by the poets found here and by many others. We hope this book acts as a springboard for you, the reader, to search out other poems to complement the ones we have included.

  Among the criteria we used in choosing poems was the matter of accessibility. Unfortunately many potential readers are put off by modern poetry’s reputation of being difficult to understand; and indeed some of it is. However, “difficult” does not mean “impossible.” Some poems offer up their meanings easily; others benefit from repeated readings. But none of the poems in this book are of the variety that limit themselves to an in-group coterie.

  To this point we sometimes make brief comments on a poem’s form, references, and/or language. We also may note how a poem speaks to others in the collection. You will undoubtedly make further connections of your own. And while the twelve divisions of this book hold in a general way, many of the poems defied easy classification. A poem slotted under the passage of time is also about memories of childhood; one about the loss of a loved one describes in detail the natural world once shared.

  We envision this book as either atop a pile on your bedside table or as the catalyst for group reading and discussion—or both. Reading poetry to oneself is one of life’s great pleasures. Reading it with others can be another. For more than ten years Mary Ann has led a monthly poetry-reading group in her home, with Carolyn as a charter member. During that time we have read aloud the works of most of the poets included here. It continues to surprise us how a collaborative reading can reveal new dimensions of a poem, especially when read and spoken simultaneously.

  These poems run the gamut of style and substance, from traditional to free verse, from formal to colloquial language, from serious to silly. Some of them are concerned directly with age and aging, others touch on the subject tangentially. Their authors range from Nobel laureates to the recently published; a few lived more than a thousand years ago while others are alive today. While the majority of the poems were written in English, others are presented here in translation. But all of them answer our primary criteria: they speak to us directly and honestly, and they are pertinent in some way to coming to age.

  1

  “YOU READING THIS, BE READY”

  These first poems place us squarely in the present moment, the here and now. We spend so much of our time mulling over the past—regrets, mistakes, nostalgia—or anticipating the future that the present often escapes our attention. But realizing that the present moment is the only one we have can sharpen our awareness of what it is to be alive. Since the poet is concerned with the particular—this time, this place—a poem by example might encourage us to look at the wonder of our own situation as the gift that it is. We might call it, as Ursula K. Le Guin does, the present as a present.

  YOU READING THIS, BE READY

  Starting here, what do you want to remember?

  How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?

  What scent of old wood hovers, what softened

  sound from outside fills the air?

  Will you ever bring a better gift for the world

  than the breathing respect that you carry

  wherever you go right no
w? Are you waiting

  for time to show you some better thoughts?

  When you turn around, starting here, lift this

  new glimpse that you found; carry into evening

  all that you want from this day. This interval you spent

  reading or hearing this, keep it for life—

  What can anyone give you greater than now,

  starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

  William Stafford

  A GLASS OF COLD WATER

  Poetry is not a code

  to be broken

  but a way of seeing

  with the eyes shut,

  of short-circuiting

  the usual

  connections until

  lioness and

  knee become

  the same thing.

  Though not a cure

  it can console,

  the way cool sheets

  console

  the dying flesh,

  the way a glass of cold

  water can be

  a way station

  on the unswerving

  road to thirst.

  Linda Pastan

  This poem is placed early in the book to remind us at the outset of what a poem is and is not. It is not an enigmatic paraphrase of some secret meaning, designed to baffle and thwart the uninitiated reader. Rather, as the poet says, it is “a way of seeing… short-circuiting the usual connections.”

  No two readers will read a poem identically. Nor will they necessarily take away exactly what the poet intended to convey. But if a poem touches a nerve or calls up a lost memory, if one of its images pleases or some of its sounds tickle the ear, consider these as doorways into the poem.

  DEW LIGHT

  Now in the blessed days of more and less

  when the news about time is that each day

  there is less of it I know none of that

  as I walk out through the early garden

  only the day and I are here with no

  before or after and the dew looks up

  without a number or a present age

  W. S. Merwin

  LAMENT

  Suddenly, after you die, those friends

  who never agreed about anything

  agree about your character.

  They’re like a houseful of singers rehearsing

 

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