3.27.2012

No more tears

I was going to title the "The Last Post" as it is the name of the video clip I have but I didn't want to imply that I'm going anywhere. But really, the title should be "The Last Post". And I will give credit where credit is due...my friend Sgt. B posted this on his FB page and I spurred me on to write this.





These are the last tears I will cry for my friend, Lex. He would want it that way. He's probably shaking his head, wondering what all of the wailing and gnashing of teeth is all about. So into the box and onto the shelf it goes.


He was the one that properly turned me on to Yeats so I'll leave you with "The Wild Swans at Coole" - a fitting selection (thanks Kanani) though I wonder if "The Wild Old Wicked Man" might not be more apropos...


The Wild Swans at Coole
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?



I teased him once about his preference for Yeats - Irish poets tend to be so...morose. He said his Irish heritage demanded it. I laughed and said maybe that explains my inner turmoil...I've been denying that which was demanded by my heritage. Who knew?He said no thanks were necessary for that one..."And if you’re wondering whether you can buy me a beer, the answer is yes. Yes, you can." So I did and it was worth every damned penny.


Requiescat in pace, my friend.




Pau.




- hfs

2 comments:

DL Sly said...

If I know anything about Lex (and I am the first to admit it is only through his writings) it's that he is probably riding raindrops on eagle's wings looking for a target to *bomb*.
As you well know, the sorrow will pass....in it's own due time and not one moment sooner. Then your memories will be the source of comfort they are meant to be.
Remember, "hanging in" is always preferrable to "hanging out" as the former can get you through and the latter can get you arrested.
0>;~}

WING WIFE said...

I've always known the friends lost in "mishaps" are somewhere with their loved ones who went before, old friends and new--all flying high above us and smiling. We, however, are the grounded ones who are left with a hole in ourselves, a missing piece.

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