Solitude

Steve Shoemaker wrote this lovely verse after reading Alexander Pope’s Ode on Solitude.

On Reading “Solitude,” written at age 12 by Alexander Pope.

In our time of celebrity
adulation, we all want fame.
To die unknown, not on TV,
will bring us shame.

Pope seems to love obscurity,
yet he is known 300 years
later for his great poetry.
I write with tears

my words will not ever be read
except on FaceBook by 10 friends.
No one will know me when I’m dead:
pride even ends.

 

– Steve Shoemaker, July 15, 2014

Editor’s Note: Steve’s verse arrives two weeks after his first cataract surgery and the morning after my latest hearing test. His eyesight is better than it’s been since he was eight, but he has no illusions of a return to the tender years when life lay all ahead waiting to unfold. Unlike Steve’s corrected eyesight, my hearing will not get better; it moves me ever deeper into silence and solitude, a gentle sort of preparation for the acceptance of death (obscurity) when there is no pride.

That Alexander Pope could write this at the age of 12 is astonishing. I’m going back to the Poetry Foundation for more of him, but today I’ll feast on Steve’s reading of him and the first stanza of Pope’s Ode to Solitude:

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Click the link above (Ode on Solitude) for Pope’s poem on the site of The Poetry Foundation.

Thanks for coming by!

Gordon and Steve

 

 

3 thoughts on “Solitude

  1. To Gordon and Steve: I think your thoughts and observations are a gift to anyone who can see or hear well enough to connect with the messages. Life has been and remains a poem for me. Right, the vision is such a great thing… and the hearing… well touch and smell, and that old favorite, taste. They help us survive and function, and they deliver nature and art and love. It’s all so important. If we still have our functioning brain with all the memories, that might be the best “sense” of all. Then again, my overpowering view of life is what I call the May Fly theory, as in one day to live. I say that life goes so fast that every time I turn around the sun is setting, and I already enjoyed the legal limit on sunsets decades ago.

    Like

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