Spring
may well be some way off yet here in the UK,but yesterday I spotted my first
daffodils of 2020, and experienced a deep sense of relief that winter is all
but done with us... for now, at least, although a winter of the heart is
something else entirely.
Oh,
my, how time flies! Scary, yes, but (as regular readers will know) I for one
take reassurance in the fact that spring always follows winter…
Renewal,
of course, includes reconciliation, not least with ourselves and consequently
(hopefully) with each other and Earth Mother, both having a nasty habit of
seeming to turn against us as winter proceeds, often harshly and uncaring,
spreading discontent at every turn.
The
genesis of this poem appeared in my secondary school magazine. I was aged 11
years at the time. (Are we really in 2020 already, and will
I really be 75 later this year?) Oh, well, time waits of no
one and we must make the best of what time we have, each in our own way,
whatever our circumstances.
Spring,
too, may well rescue a human spirit in free fall; nor does religion have
a monopoly on spirituality since the human spirit may well choose a different
path which we should attempt to understand before rushing to
any judgement, especially given that our differences do not make us
different, only human. (As good a reason as any for this poem appearing on
both poetry blogs today.)
So what am I saying? Well, you'll have worked it out, I'm sure, but in case you are left in any doubt ... no matter what life forces are getting you down, never, but never say die.
Yes, we do die, all of us, but, like nature all around us, we live on, and will return ... in the hearts and minds of others, a posthumous consciousness that may not be equal to the real thing, yet is just that in many ways; whenever we need a comfort zone or are mulling things though, we are most likely to turn to those whose opinions we value the most, whether they be alive or dead.
We all have our wintry days - at any time of year - we can but turn to the heart's ever-present springtime of happier, kinder memories ... for inspiration, hope, and regeneration.
So what am I saying? Well, you'll have worked it out, I'm sure, but in case you are left in any doubt ... no matter what life forces are getting you down, never, but never say die.
Yes, we do die, all of us, but, like nature all around us, we live on, and will return ... in the hearts and minds of others, a posthumous consciousness that may not be equal to the real thing, yet is just that in many ways; whenever we need a comfort zone or are mulling things though, we are most likely to turn to those whose opinions we value the most, whether they be alive or dead.
We all have our wintry days - at any time of year - we can but turn to the heart's ever-present springtime of happier, kinder memories ... for inspiration, hope, and regeneration.
SPRING,
BLUEPRINT FOR LIFE or NEVER, BUT NEVER SAY DIE
In
the air, a sense
of
renewal, everywhere,
bluebells
ringing out
their
message of peace,
love
and rebirth,
imaging
a passage of seasons,
(shortcut
to Eternity)
where
every human heart
dares
share its secrets
with
Earth Mother for all
Time
will (as likely as not)
cajole
us to forget
Oh,
but listen, listen
to
a global consciousness
forever
intoning rites
in
the wind, summoning
all
ghosts of love
and
peace to haunt our dreams,
revisit
their seasons, feed us
hopes
laid low by winters
come
and gone, restored to life
by
the Spirit of Spring
urging
us to enjoy its scents,
and
follow, follow...
Humanity,
unequalled
in
the art of shadowing nature,
ever
anxious to pass on
its
secrets and discoveries
in
theories, treatises,
stories
and poems generations
will
tell, retell and embellish
(as
likely as not) in its archives,
revealing a hint (at
least)
how
taking advantage of nature
saw
an unforgiving Earth Mother
seeing
off its future
Spring,
all things bright and beautiful,
blueprint
for human potential
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2002
[Note:
Subsequent to its appearance in my school magazine at the age of eleven, the
genesis of this poem also appeared under the title 'A Hymn to Spring' in an
anthology, The Joy of Spring, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2001 and
later in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books,
2002.]
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