Catches the halts & the worry, Max.
And a bunch of fellow older poets feel for/with you….
It’s worth considering Andrew’s point….
Doug
> On Mar 29, 2016, at 10:47 PM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> Not Complaining (twice)
>
> 1. On the Stair
>
> Climbing first time today the stair,
> began again saying to myself:
>
> up the stairs that keep me fit
> to the room that proves I’m not,
>
> resolving yet again to count
> my climbs per day - but soon forget.
>
> Not complaining! This my day
> till bedtime, is spent downstairs,
>
> on my mind the well-timed tray
> she needs from early oatmeal
>
> through to nightcap herbal tea.
> See to the dogs, keep the fridge
>
> well-stocked, read, wander the web,
> write emails and would-be poems.
>
> Climb the stairs that keep me fit
> to the room that proves I’m not:
>
> the tray is lowered on her knees,
> I sink into the bedroom chair.
>
> ‘Strenuous!' I exclaim, a word
> I over-use. My share of lunch,
>
> our sandwich, is the lion’s share,
> watched by two Labradors.
>
> They’ve had their midday snack,
> tend to forget - sense a lack.
>
> When I get my breath back
> the three of us will clatter down,
>
> check weather at the window,
> settle which goes out first
>
> (one at a time is easier)
> and where, avoiding stairs, to go.
>
>
> 2. Carer’s Lament
> for Marilyn
>
> Upstairs the lonely sound of coughing,
> not what I expect, but no doubt
> part of the symptoms just now.
>
> It hurts to walk, bed is not
> comfortable, is there some
> pillow not yet tried, might help?
>
> I, when I step out,
> look alertly about,
> needing to report back
>
> to the bedridden one
> current images - what
> she’s missing, may yet
>
> enjoy should she be up to it.
> How the high bedroom window
> teems with life! - so long as
>
> her visual sensitivity tolerates
> its brightness. Clouds are better,
> dark ones moving their shapes,
>
> animals of every sort, calling
> to be photographed. Many
> reappear on Facebook, for
>
> friends to Like. I leave
> teasingly sceptical remarks.
> Cellphone and laptop are vital
>
> conduits to the free comings
> and goings of others, who may
> or may not feel for the bed-ridden.
>
> The sky obliges with many birds.
> High slow hawks, they must be.
> There! aren’t these hummingbirds?
>
> newly hatched in the neighbors’ tree?
> We have no ledge to lodge a feeder.
> When outside’s too bright, down
>
> comes the blind till soft evening.
> All night the electric town glitters.
> Car headlamps thread far streets.
>
> We will go out together, some
> time soon. Meantime, what did
> I see? was it fun out for the dogs?
>
> Here they are now, exercised but
> not exhausted, no off-leash time.
> They’d love to show her the park.
>
> They’re looking out the window
> high above their street, where neighbours'
> dogs walk (‘woof’); the bus starts up for
>
> Downtown, where she never goes now;
> beyond descends one more
> seaplane to the level lake, sliding
>
> out of sight to some cheery dock.
> I remind her how three of us went
> up without her, her two friends and I,
>
> in such a plane high in that sky.
> Shapeless clouds I see nothing in
> move over at an invalid’s pace.
Douglas Barbour
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https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuations 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
Done in by creation itself.
I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
Robert Kroetsch.
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