La versión en español está después de la versión en inglés.
The day my sister Dale died in 1981, I randomly took a book from the shelf in her living room, I let it fall open on my lap, and it landed on this poem, Lament by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, which has lately again been on my mind.
We who are left, how shall we look again
Happily on the sun or feel the rain
Without remembering how they who went
Ungrudgingly and spent
Their lives for us loved, too, the sun and rain?A bird among the rain-wet lilac sings—
But we, how shall we turn to little things
And listen to the birds and winds and streams
Made holy by their dreams,
Nor feel the heart-break in the heart of things?
To soothe your minds for a moment, here are the boys enjoying their daily outing. I can’t turn the hall light on because they don’t like the sound it makes when it turns itself off. Click! Yeah, that’s frightening.
We’re having moments of sunshine today (less as the day goes on) and we saw the moon clearly last night. I was too slow to get my camera and it was gone.
El día que mi hermana Dale murió en 1981, tomé al azar un libro del estante de su sala de estar, lo dejé caer abierto en mi regazo y aterrizó en este poema, Lamento de Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, que últimamente ha vuelto a estar en mi mente.
Nosotros, los que quedamos, ¿cómo volveremos a mirar
con alegría el sol o sentiremos la lluvia
sin recordar cómo quienes se fueron
sin rencor y gastaron
sus vidas por nosotros, ¿amarían también el sol y la lluvia?Un pájaro canta entre las lilas mojadas por la lluvia—
Pero nosotros, ¿cómo nos volveremos hacia las cosas pequeñas
y escucharemos a los pájaros, los vientos y los arroyos
santificados por sus sueños,
ni sentiremos la angustia en el corazón de las cosas?
Para tranquilizarlos un momento, aquí están los chicos disfrutando de su salida diaria. No puedo encender la luz del pasillo porque no les gusta el sonido que hace cuando se apaga sola. ¡Clic! Sí, eso da miedo.
Hoy tenemos algunos momentos de sol (menos a medida que avanza el día) y anoche vimos la luna con claridad. Tardé demasiado en sacar la cámara y desapareció.
Such a pretty place, such sweet kitties. Hugs,
David:
Hugs back.
Appropriately arty photos to accompany that poem of heartbreak.
Debra:
The poem smoke to me that day and still does.
That poem is totally apt, thank you. Boud
Boud:
The poem stunned me the first time I came upon it (or it came upon me).
I feel poetry is going the way of Latin; a forgotten form of communication.
I stopped “speed reading” for a moment, and just… READ the verses. Beautiful.
Rade:
Oh, I don’t think poetry is dying. Just consider Amanda Gorman.
Thank you for this moment to reflect.
And for the ‘kids in the hall’….great photos!
Jim:
Our daily adventure.
I think we have to look upon those things that we love, that were loved by those we loved so dearly, with extra intention, with the thoughts of those loved ones directly involved, to give the sun and the moon and the sound of the rain and the bird in the lilac the attention the ones who are gone would have given them too. A tiny holy remembrance of their lives along with the acknowledgement of the holy we encounter every day if we just remember it is there.
Ms. Moon
Ms. Moon:
Now THAT is poetry.
Bits and pieces of my sister’s life and surroundings made their way into mine after her death. Memories and the occasional dream are all that is left of her existence. Grief tempered by the belief that she was done, tired of the life that life bestowed on her.
ellen abbott:
My sister was 29 and not yet done. But she was accepting. I’m grateful for the dreams and memories.
Oh, that poem! It really speaks to me.
The ten year anniversary of my sister’s death is rapidly approaching.
If you care to read more: https://ksrgmck.wordpress.com/2016/02/25/pamel/
Kelly:
Thanks for the link. Your sister “Pamel” was a beauty. My heart is with you. That poem you chose is powerful (and true).
The photos of the boys look like paintings.
The poem–well, a grief I know too well. x Mary
Mary:
So many of us know this grief. We’re at least fortunate to have had these people we loved so much.
Uggh. Grief. Beautiful poem about it, but hard hard hard hard hard part of life, expressed truly here.
My question yesterday about the “No se admitirán devolutiones entre centros de canarias …. ? What’s that talking about?” … it wasn’t a translation that I was needing, but I was asking why something like that would be on a restaurant receipt? Now…. I’m thinking this is their standard receipt for the whole place, El Corte Inglés, which I hadn’t quite realized was actually a store, with a restaurant. So, that’s it, I guess? It’s just referring to items bought from the store, that fall into that category?
Judy C:
I realized you must have understood the translation. Sorry about that. Yes, it’s the standard receipt because the restaurant sells packaged gourmet food items, as well.
What unusual looking pictures in the halls. Did you use a filter for effect? They are cool looking.
Mistress Borghese:
No filters. I just stripped the color out of part of the photos in Photoshop to make them a bit more interesting (I think).
Sunshine? What a shock! That’s a beautiful poem — a memory to treasure when it’s associated with Dale. I know you loved her.
Love,
Janie
Janie:
Adoration. And the poet truly understood grief. Yes, the sun. And we might not see it again for a couple of weeks (maybe more)!
Th difference in those cats’ sizes is really striking.
Kirk:
Moose was always so much huskier, but Dudo is really just skin and bones now.
I’m sure you never get over the loss of a sister. Hugs to you. xx
Jennifer
Jennifer:
My grandfather’s sister died when she was 24 (Spanish flu) and he was 29. Other than a cousin in Minneapolis, she was his only living relative at the time. My parents took my grandparents to the cemetery every year. 50 years later, they both still cried. My mother was always indignant. Sadly she learned to understand.
That’s a lovely poem by which to remember your sister, Scoot. Plus your photos are so surreal, especially the first one!
Tundra Bunny:
It was such a shocking poem to land on that day, and now I’ll never forget it. I do love the shots I capture in the hall with no light on.
That’s a beautiful poem. It really captures the essence of grief.
Steve,
It took me by surprise when I found it and has stuck with me.
Since I spook quite easily at sudden noises, I both understand and sympathize with the kitties.
wickedhamster:
SG’s getting more and more like them. What was that? What was that? What was that?!? I feel like all I need to say in a soothing voice is, “You’re OK. It’s OK.”
lovely poem! I loved it. thank you for sharing it.
Urspo:
It shook me the first time I read it.
The Kids in the Hall!
Bob:
Yes! I watched but never got hooked.