NOTHING SADDER

NOTHING SADDER

 

Nothing sadder than the soul of a clown in spring

or an old man sitting on a park bench alone

like a garden gate someone left open for good.

And deep underground I can feel the roots of the flowers

waiting for news of the weather

so they can decide what to wear

and which colour goes with another.

And I can’t look at the white chalices of the morning glory

whatever it’s tangled up in like a junkie

without seeing some kind of grail-quest going on

and I always want to say

Don’t look for it before it’s gone

but delusion too is a way of getting on with things

and what have I ever gone looking for

that wasn’t just as beautifully foolish?

God for example.

Or enough light

in an ice-storm of a woman

to survive the night

like a wooly mammoth

though it lasts twenty-five thousand years.

I keep trying to carve chandeliers out of glaciers

but everything just ends up in tears on the sea-floor.

Or the wind wants to give the waves a haircut.

But as my brother would say

That’s ok too

and expand his black laughter like space

to include everything wise or foolish

that wants to take its place inside the theater.

Existence is an occasion I dress for like a human.

And one size fits all.

So I assume everything lives as I do

even inanimate things like rocks and bones

as if we were all modes of the same intelligence

that excites us with insight

when the light strikes the water

and we all begin with no proof of anything

except somehow we’re all here alone together

rising and falling like waves

on the great night sea of awareness

that cradles us in its arms

like the full moon between opposites

and shines down on everything alike

purring with ancient lullabies of reality

and says in a voice even children don’t fear

You can trust the universe completely.

Even when the babies fall down

like blossoms torn from the fruit.

Even when the wind gusts up

like a dervish of stars in your face

with the moon like a dagger between his teeth

and his blood like a savage rose

and says There’s nothing to affirm or refute

but you should try dancing

for a change of direction

and spins off like a galaxy into deep space.

An echo perches on the branch above me

like a bird from a distant valley

feathered by the shadows of death

and asks me if I know how to live

and I let the green bough in my heart answer

poem after poem like plum blossoms

trying to be serious

God may have had the first word

but the last word will be up to us.

 

PATRICK WHITE