prints from a poet

Excluding the annoying weddings that flood our precious North Shore of Boston, the fall is unquestionably the best time of the year. With the autumn days come so many little things that make a grown man giddy with unabashed excitement - cider donuts, hot cocoa, football, leaves changing color, the cool breeze, just to name a few.

Near this time of year I also take it upon myself to announce to all around me that Christmas is indeed coming. One of the ways I eagerly anticipate the Christmas season is by listening to carols. Yes, even in October. This afternoon, I listened to my all-time favorite Christmas carol, I Heard the Bells. The Sleeping At Last version is my favorite; however, I would be content with just about anyone singing it.

The original poem by Longfellow is worth reading through at some point, especially if you are not familiar with this Christmas song. As Longfellow witnesses the turmoil before him during the Civil War, he recognizes that “hate is strong” and there is much destruction in the world. But amidst this reality, his magnificent lyrics point to a profound truth that is even "more loud and deep", the promise of a steadfast hope.

While looking through some other poems by Longfellow, I stumbled upon his “Psalm of Life”. This may be another popular one of his but, not being much of a poetry reader, I hadn’t come across it until now.  He writes:

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
        Life is but an empty dream ! —
    For the soul is dead that slumbers,
        And things are not what they seem.

    Life is real !   Life is earnest!
        And the grave is not its goal ;
    Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
        Was not spoken of the soul.

    Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
        Is our destined end or way ;
    But to act, that each to-morrow
        Find us farther than to-day.

    Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
        And our hearts, though stout and brave,
    Still, like muffled drums, are beating
        Funeral marches to the grave.

    In the world's broad field of battle,
        In the bivouac of Life,
    Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
        Be a hero in the strife !

    Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
        Let the dead Past bury its dead !
    Act,— act in the living Present !
        Heart within, and God o'erhead !

    Lives of great men all remind us
        We can make our lives sublime,
    And, departing, leave behind us
        Footprints on the sands of time ;

    Footprints, that perhaps another,
        Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
    A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
        Seeing, shall take heart again.

    Let us, then, be up and doing,
        With a heart for any fate ;
    Still achieving, still pursuing,
        Learn to labor and to wait.

Again, I heard similar themes of the fragility of man juxtaposed with the undergirding message of hope and strength in times of weakness and difficulty. I am inspired by the theme of urgent humility that gives way to courageous selflessness. The poem counsels us to reflect on our lives, to detect warning signs of being like “dumb, driven cattle” leading meaningless lives. Longfellow in his writing displays an unwavering commitment to pursue deeper meaning to our lives beyond the typical cynicism found in the depravity of the human condition. A single moment may seem like just a fleeting moment but what I think Longfellow is also saying is that one moment can change a “shipwrecked brother’s” world. It is so easy to be reckless with our words or our actions in so many little ways when we could have encouraged someone’s reality by altering our behavior. Longfellow’s words motivate me to keep my eyes open, to truly see others, and to humbly seek to live a life that may arouse others to live with love for their neighbor. 

As a start, I have written a response to Longfellow's poem below. 

At a funeral for myself,

Did dream of this last night,

T'was shaken by the absence

of meaning in my life.

No large amount of tears,

nor memories shared for bliss

just dust back into dust

my life reduced to this.

Awakened to a second dream,

this more discouraging than the first,

Thought I had been a hero

unveiled to be far worse.

In this dream did well forget

the outlook of my brother,

left crippled myself with vanity,

blinded to the fallen other.

Through times of naval gazing

and excuses run abound,

came no substance with which to prosper

insistence, no where found.

Awakened yet a third time,

in mind the "Psalm of life",

Longfellows call to live,

to be a "hero in the strife"

I realized no longer sleeping

noticed footprints there before

of a past shipwrecked brother

who'd persevered through far more.

Left with me his prints

of the hero life to lead,

being active souls in love,

leaving prints of a soul redeemed.

Tim