'Poem selection' for the week -- "The Glory of the Day Was in Her Face":
The glory of the day was in her face,
The beauty of the night was in her eyes.
And over all her loveliness, the grace
Of Morning blushing in the early skies.
And in her voice, the calling of the dove;
Like music of a sweet, melodious part.
And in her smile, the breaking light of love;
And all the gentle virtues in her heart.
And now the glorious day, the beauteous night,
The birds that signal to their mates at dawn,
To my dull ears, to my tear-blinded sight
Are one with all the dead, since she is gone.
-- James Weldon Johnson
When I consider the idea of 'glory', I can't help but include things like the eastern sky this morning around 6am -- just...glorious! So the juxtaposition of this with the reality of a friend of ours hovering near death today makes the affect of this poem even more startling and compelling -- an odd, disorienting holding of two seemingly contradictory things, that at a whole other level are not completely disconnected.
Life and death...are one.
