A while ago my friend B asked me what poems I thought would be nice for him to read at his Granny's funeral. I suggested three, and decided to post them here so that I would not lose track of them.
The first is from the insert from a record that my father gave me, the words to Time to Sleep from Richard Strauss' Four Last Songs, by Hermann Hesse. The recording was made in 1978, sung by the great Kiwi soprano star Kiri Te Kanawa, (which I think is even more beautiful than Elizabeth Schwarzkopf's recording). The words are gorgeous in this translation from the original German.
Now the day has wearied me,
All my gain and all my longing
Like a weary child's shall be night,
Whose many stars are thronging.
Hands, now leave your work alone;
Brow, forget your idle thinking,
All my thoughts, their labour done,
Softly into sleep are sinking.
High the soul will rise in flight,
Freely gliding, softly swaying,
In the magic realm of night,
Deeper laws of life obeying.
This one, Do not stand at my grave and weep, is also lovely, by Mary Frye. it is one of J's favorites.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
And from my friend S, who loves this Tom Waits song, Green Grass. The first stanza gets me every time.
Lay your head where my heart used to be
Hold the earth above me
Lay down in the green grass
Remember when you loved me
Come closer don't be shy
Stand beneath a rainy sky
The moon is over the rise
Think of me as a train goes by
Clear the thistles and brambles
Whistle 'Didn't He Ramble'
Now there's a bubble of me
And it's floating in thee
Stand in the shade of me
Things are now made of me
The weather vane will say...
It smells like rain today
God took the stars and he tossed 'em
Can't tell the birds from the blossoms
You'll never be free of me
He'll make a tree from me
Don't say good bye to me
Describe the sky to me
And if the sky falls, mark my words
We'll catch mocking birds
Lay your head where my heart used to be
Hold the earth above me
Lay down in the green grass
Remember when you loved me
This last poem, by Garrison Keillor, is about a cat. I heard him read it on NPR. I sent it to my parents when our sweet cat died (here she is below), and have since sent it to friends, in sympathy for the loss of their pets.
In Memory of Our Cat, Ralph
When we got home, it was almost dark.
Our neighbor waited on the walk.
"I'm sorry, I have bad news," he said.
"Your cat, the gray-black one, is dead.
I found him by the garage an hour ago."
"Thank you," I said, "for letting us know."
We dug a hole in the flower bed
With lilac bushes overhead,
Where this cat loved to lie in spring
And roll in dirt and eat the green
Delicious first spring bud,
And laid him down and covered him up,
Wrapped in a piece of tablecloth,
Our good old cat laid in the earth.
We quickly turned and went inside
The empty house and sat and cried
Softly in the dark some tears
For that familiar voice, that fur,
That soft weight missing from our laps,
That we had loved too well perhaps
And mourned from weakness of the heart.
A childish weakness, to regard
An animal whose life is brief
With such affection and such grief.
If such is weakness, so it be.
This modest elegy
Is only meant to note the death
Of one cat so we won't forget
His face, his name, his gift
Of cat affection while he lived,
The sweet shy nature
Of this graceful creature, who gave us
The simple pleasure of himself.
