Wednesday, December 20, 2017

"... all the living and the dead."

It's snowing. I think of my mother, she who has been dead fifteen years this week, and of how she loved the last lines of James Joyce's "The Dead":
"A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead." 

7 comments:

ArtSparker said...

Also kind of a Tom Waits time of year...same song, different words.

"like a tarp thrown all over this"

Frex said...

Yes, and lots of people seem to die around winter solstice, intentionally or not.
Or perhaps I just notice that they do.

The Crow said...

My day of noticing is December 23. Funny, I was just thinking of that this evening while out with Kareema and Donovan: he was trying to remember what day January 20 fell upon (Saturday). For some unrelated reason, I realized this Saturday was the 46th anniversary of my Noticing Day.

My heart hurts for you, too.

Frex said...

You are lovely, Crow. Peace be upon your heart too. --Fresca

bink said...

How time passes! What a shock to read it's been 15 years since Lytton died. I guess I could have done the math...but I'm getting so old I vaguely think everything happened more recently than it did. And yet my memories of Lytton are bright. I'll always treasure the memories of laughing with her--so hard I couldn't breathe. Laughing in so many different locations but always with her cigarette smoke hanging in the air. xoxoxo

marz said...

The last sentence....wow

Fresca said...

BINK: I know--time is so weird! During the day yesterday, Lytton and her death felt ages ago, but last night it all felt very here-and-now.
I sure do miss her. Even with cigarette smoke...

MARZ: No kidding, eh? I'm glad you read that.