That is a terrific poem. Writing on leaves, as I've been doing for some years, has necessarily led me to a great deal of reflection on the similarity of leaves and lives, of decaying matter and human souls. So I've been thinking in anticipation of this poem for quite a while.
Coincidentally, I just found some more leaves:
ReplyDeleteDerek Mahon (23 November 1941 – 1 October 2020)
Leaves
The prisoners of infinite choice
Have built their house
In a field below the wood
And are at peace.
It is autumn, and dead leaves
On their way to the river
Scratch like birds at the windows
Or tick on the road.
Somewhere there is an afterlife
Of dead leaves,
A stadium filled with an infinite
Rustling and sighing.
Somewhere in the heaven
Of lost futures
The lives we might have led
Have found their own fulfilment.
From Derek Mahon, Poems 1962-1978 (Oxford University Press 1979).
That is a terrific poem. Writing on leaves, as I've been doing for some years, has necessarily led me to a great deal of reflection on the similarity of leaves and lives, of decaying matter and human souls. So I've been thinking in anticipation of this poem for quite a while.
ReplyDeleteI must read more of Derek Mahon's work.
I see that he died just a few days ago - probably why that poem was posted. I wish I'd known of him a bit earlier.
ReplyDelete