Snow has been falling, and the purple finches
Attack the feeder, diving like air aces.
A half a dozen squirrels
Do their Olympic leaps through the weak sunlight
Spilling sunflower seeds and seed husks
Together over the drifts. The doves are pacing
And nodding, with the upmost
Placidity like bourgeois wives and husbands.
Apparently they are going shopping –
I can almost see the stoutness of their billfolds,
Their station wagons, their wine cellars.
Snow falls through standing tress, my patch of the world’s hair.
I have Vivaldi on the stereo,
Another cup of coffee. It is peaceful but hard
Growing older, no
Birds in my nest.
Now I can ask: What about my life?
What do I desire, now
That it has come to this? Snow coming down
Harder and harder this morning, the back yard
Becomes mysterious, the feeder
Is finally deserted.
I remember that I was hoping to be grateful
For existence itself.
Alicia Ostriker (1937 – ) is an American poet and scholar.
Ostriker sets an engaging scene with the birds and squirrels shopping for their dinners at the feeder while she drinks a cup of coffee and listens to Vivaldi. “It is peaceful but hard growing older,” she tells us. “What about my life? What do I desire now that it has come to this?”
The ‘this’ she refers to seems to be the circumstances of being old. When we are young we have many expectations to fill – both our own and our family’s. We struggle to discover the purpose of our lives, juggle responsibilities to ourselves and others. But when we are old, the need for roles is gone; in fact, there is little place in our western society for the aged.
“I remember I was hoping to be grateful for existence itself.” Does this mean the poet, contrary to her expectations for old age, is not grateful to be still alive? Is it a burden? Does life have value if it has lost its meaning? Is the meaning of life something intrinsic, or is it something inherited, passed down, passed on, passed over? Is it something given to us, or something we give to life?
Questions to ponder while listening to Vivaldi.
Thanks for this. What a gift the poet gives us; an invitation to ponder what it is we hope for, even though many of us seem to hope without giving it a thought.
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“I remember I was hoping to be grateful for existence itself.” How often we forget to remember for this most precious and basic gift.
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