A legacy for the ages

 

“I started writing poetry when I was about 13.” – Al Purdy

 

Canadian poet Purdy's writing career spanned 56 years. His works included a remarkable 39 books of poetry, 1 novel, 2 volumes of memoirs and 4 books of correspondence. He has been called Canada's "unofficial poet laureate” and "a national poet in a way that you only find occasionally in the life of a culture."   Born on Dec. 30, 1918, he lived to be 81 and wrote almost daily.  His death bed, in fact, was cluttered with pieces he was composing. 

 

For Saturday’s Poem, here is Purdy’s.

Listening to Myself  

    I see myself staggering through deep snow
lugging blocks of wood yesterday
an old man
almost falling from bodily weakness
— look down on myself from above
then front and both sides
white hair — wrinkled face and hands
it's really not very surprising
that love spoken by my voice
should be when I am listening
ridiculous
yet there it is
a foolish old man with brain on fire
stumbling through the snow

— the loss of love
that comes to mean more
than the love itself
and how explain that?
— a still pool in the forest
that has ceased to reflect anything
except the past
— remains a sort of half-love
that is akin to kindness
and I am angry remembering
remembering the song of flesh
to flesh and bone to bone
the loss is better