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For Aureliano (My Son) For Later On

So after everything

The trumpet failed to sound.

The sounds that were

Were lost. Soft ground

Gave way. They found

They had no other path to take.

They turned but turning felt

The still point fixed,

And went in spirals down,

And down, until

They shook, and then the fathoms shook,

And light, like revelation, touched

Their failure.

“Sing to me!”

They shouted. Too late.

The orchestra had gone.

Then looking down

They all took note.

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It was the day their trumpet failed to sound.

The orchestra had gone.

All those sad players with their broken strings!

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Who knows how many yearned

And learned too late

To beat a futile rhythm

On that long-closed gate!

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And, ah, my lovely son,

Who knows how many years must pass

Before you know how much your father yearned

To love you, how he lost you even in this tongue

And verse you cannot understand,

Or, understanding, understand it muted

By a foreign tongue?

How all the choirs,

How all the brown trees,

Oceans, pivots, poles, and places

Raced to say

My lovely boy, my lovely, lovely, beamish, lovely boy,

How much I love you!

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In the wiffly wood

I cannot find the Jabberwock.

Help me if you can.

(from “The Light Of Day (I)”)

What do you think?

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