I shared a poem yesterday over at Hiro Boga’s lovely blog The Flourishing Muse. Every Sunday she invites her readers to join a poetry circle and share their poetry. Here’s what I contributed:
I watch her competent fingers
move across the neck
of the violin; her right hand
manipulates the bow and
a sounds emits.It cuts through the kitchen
post-dinner malaise
and rings true within me, as I
sit there at the table,
As though I were the instrument…My strings taut and tuned,
My fingerboard pressed by fingertips.
My insides hollowed out to produce both
both music and musician.
The wombCreative, yet fallow,
reaches forward to claim
that which it no longer contains,
nurtures or protects.
The practiced notes evade its graspIntangible as smoke.
I wrote it a wee while ago as I listened to my daughter play her violin in the kitchen after dinner, and I was struck by this almost overwhelming realisation that I was going to have to let go. I was going to have to release my grip, watch her grow up, celebrate her moves towards independence, encourage her to experience life.
I was reminded of these lines from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet:
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, “Speak to us of Children.”
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
I was also reminded of this poem by Evangeline Paterson which I recorded as a VoiceThread. It strikes me that this kind of parental angst is ripe for poetic interpretation!
How do you cope with/celebrate your children’s progression towards adulthood?
Amy, this is beautiful and although not a parent, I felt the swell of love and the painful realization that one day you must let go.
Amy, the poem is lovely; thanks for providing me with a moment of Grace. Lines from The Prophet were a perfect accompaniment; like the pairing of fine music and wine with a delicious meal. A child’s progression toward adulthood often creates the realization (read panic) that the important parenting ingredients were put in the stew early on. There are no do-overs; no point in adding potatoes as the stew is nearly ready to serve. We need only watch and season.
Kahlil Gibran has long been a favourite of mine, and these words strike me deep too. As the parent without care, I have less of a daily bond with my children and so have been ‘hardened’ to the separation process at an early stage.
The letting go is part of our learning and growing. Perhaps one of the ultimate challenges is to keep a sense of self while being a devoted parent in order to lessen the impact.
Thanks for your blog. Photography is very fine.