A friend who, like me, lives on his own, commented that he would so love
to find someone special
with whom to share his life, but simply didn’t have the time, what with work
and seeing to the shopping, laundry, keeping the house clean and
everything else that needed to be done. Fair enough, but how often do we wonder
how other people manage to find the
time for leisure activities and generally enjoying life? If the answer is
often, then we need to make time too or
risk life dumping us in some metaphorical river carrying us along with the rest
of its human waste…
We are
often told that the cut and thrust of modern life is all about prioritizing. (How
managers and supervisors, not to mention politicians love that word!). Well, making time to get a life needs to be a
priority, too, surely? Oh, of course things (relationships?) don’t always work
out as we'd hoped (in my case, more often than not) but there is so much in life
to miss out on; we need to pause for thought, and then make time to GO FOR IT. True, we all have our limitations, but as a
teacher at my old school once pointed out, limitations are a challenge not an
excuse.
My dear
late mother once told me, ‘Always make time to reflect on life because it’s
food for thought that makes the feast all the more enjoyable.’ Wise words,
indeed!
DEEP
RIVER or FISHING FOR THE TWINKLE IN TIME’S EYE
A man by
a river is always there,
often fishing,
now and then sketching
or gazing
into the air as if watching
birds in
flight only, invariably,
there are
none in sight as light on a face
all
grizzled and worn (at first sight)
seems to
shed all trace of care,
take on a
saintly profile, a beauty rare,
sublime, less
in thrall to time
and place
than the river passing us by,
emanating
centuries of loving, dreaming,
despairing
of ever finding whatever
we dare
not cease seeking if half scared
of
naming, growing weary of hoping,
trying to
express in the ways we look, talk,
pressing on
regardless, feeling alone
even in crowds,
begrudging time to pause
for breath
(forget positive thinking)
half expecting
to find Someone ‘out there’
(but where,
and if we do, what then?)
‘A
strange man,’ people mutter and move on,
few pausing
to ask why he’s always there,
by a
river, often fishing, sometimes laughing
or just gazing
into thin air (at what, ghosts?)
deflecting
a general incapacity of native curiosity
to
translate into… an oral perspicacity leading
to whatever,
but something (surely?)
that has
to be better than this mere moving on
like a
river ...
Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2014
[Note :
An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling
for the Quickness of Time by
R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]
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