Sometimes I think Jane and I blog in (unintended) synchronisation. She posted this poem (go read it, it’s wonderful), and I planned to post a poem today that came into my head yesterday as I was washing the dishes in the evening. When summer arrives here in Perth, the evenings can be quite beautiful in terms of colour and light. It can feel as if someone has taken watercolours and started painting the sky with meticulous colour. In those moments when I’m washing the dishes and staring out the window at the same time, I start to turn words over in my head. Yesterday evening, this poem seemed appropriate for some reason:
The New Faces
If you, that have grown old, were the first dead,
Neither catalpa tree nor scented lime
Should hear my living feet, nor would I tread
Where we wrought that shall break the teeth of Time.
Let the new faces play what tricks they will
In the old rooms; night can outbalance day,
Our shadows rove the garden gravel still,
The living seem more shadowy than they.
–William Butler Yeats