Heavy what for this poor old head!
P

-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Max Richards
Sent: 01 July 2008 02:26
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: Braincap in Elysium [Home Burial]

On 30/6/08 9:31 PM, "Patrick McManus" <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

> I saw an article titled Funerals DIY -a striking title but referring to
> burying family members -all these experts take over and make messes (that
> sounds a good sweeping statement -but we have a pretty sad system over
here
> -all we now need is some one to actually die instead of us to make things
> easier
> Ha another Patrick rant
> Family get the spade out like in the old wild west days?? Uncle make a
nice
> stone -mother bake a cake -aunty play some music main character' favourite
> even one of his terrible poems
 
Robert Frost (1874­1963).  North of Boston.  1915.
 
6. Home Burial
 
 
He saw her from the bottom of the stairs
Before she saw him. She was starting down,
Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.
She took a doubtful step and then undid it
To raise herself and look again. He spoke            5
Advancing toward her: ³What is it you see
From up there always‹for I want to know.²
She turned and sank upon her skirts at that,
And her face changed from terrified to dull.
He said to gain time: ³What is it you see,²          10
Mounting until she cowered under him.
³I will find out now‹you must tell me, dear.²
She, in her place, refused him any help
With the least stiffening of her neck and silence.
She let him look, sure that he wouldn¹t see,         15
Blind creature; and a while he didn¹t see.
But at last he murmured, ³Oh,² and again, ³Oh.²
 
³What is it‹what?² she said.
 
³Just that I see.² 
 
³You don¹t,² she challenged. ³Tell me what it is.²    20
 
³The wonder is I didn¹t see at once.
I never noticed it from here before.
I must be wonted to it‹that¹s the reason.
The little graveyard where my people are!
So small the window frames the whole of it.           25
Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?
There are three stones of slate and one of marble,
Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight
On the side hill. We haven¹t to mind those.
But I understand: it is not the stones,              30
But the child¹s mound‹‹²
 
³Don¹t, don¹t, don¹t, don¹t,² she cried.
 
She withdrew shrinking from beneath his arm
That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;
And turned on him with such a daunting look,          35
He said twice over before he knew himself:
³Can¹t a man speak of his own child he¹s lost?²
 
³Not you! Oh, where¹s my hat? Oh, I don¹t need it!
I must get out of here. I must get air.
I don¹t know rightly whether any man can.²            40
 
³Amy! Don¹t go to someone else this time.
Listen to me. I won¹t come down the stairs.²
He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.
³There¹s something I should like to ask you, dear.²
 
³You don¹t know how to ask it.²                      45
 
³Help me, then.²   
Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.
 
³My words are nearly always an offence.
I don¹t know how to speak of anything
So as to please you. But I might be taught            50
I should suppose. I can¹t say I see how.
A man must partly give up being a man
With women-folk. We could have some arrangement
By which I¹d bind myself to keep hands off
Anything special you¹re a-mind to name.               55
Though I don¹t like such things ¹twixt those that love.
Two that don¹t love can¹t live together without them.
But two that do can¹t live together with them.²
She moved the latch a little. ³Don¹t‹don¹t go.
Don¹t carry it to someone else this time.             60
Tell me about it if it¹s something human.
Let me into your grief. I¹m not so much
Unlike other folks as your standing there
Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.
I do think, though, you overdo it a little.           65
What was it brought you up to think it the thing
To take your mother-loss of a first child
So inconsolably‹in the face of love.
You¹d think his memory might be satisfied‹‹²
 
³There you go sneering now!²                          70
 
³I¹m not, I¹m not! 
You make me angry. I¹ll come down to you.
God, what a woman! And it¹s come to this,
A man can¹t speak of his own child that¹s dead.²
 
³You can¹t because you don¹t know how.                75
If you had any feelings, you that dug
With your own hand‹how could you?‹his little grave;
I saw you from that very window there,
Making the gravel leap and leap in air,
Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly    80
And roll back down the mound beside the hole.
I thought, Who is that man? I didn¹t know you.
And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs
To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.
Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice         85
Out in the kitchen, and I don¹t know why,
But I went near to see with my own eyes.
You could sit there with the stains on your shoes
Of the fresh earth from your own baby¹s grave
And talk about your everyday concerns.                90
You had stood the spade up against the wall
Outside there in the entry, for I saw it.²
 
³I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.
I¹m cursed. God, if I don¹t believe I¹m cursed.²
 
³I can repeat the very words you were saying.         95
ŒThree foggy mornings and one rainy day
Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.¹
Think of it, talk like that at such a time!
What had how long it takes a birch to rot
To do with what was in the darkened parlor.          100
You couldn¹t care! The nearest friends can go
With anyone to death, comes so far short
They might as well not try to go at all.
No, from the time when one is sick to death,
One is alone, and he dies more alone.                105
Friends make pretence of following to the grave,
But before one is in it, their minds are turned
And making the best of their way back to life
And living people, and things they understand.
But the world¹s evil. I won¹t have grief so          110
If I can change it. Oh, I won¹t, I won¹t!²
 
³There, you have said it all and you feel better.
You won¹t go now. You¹re crying. Close the door.
The heart¹s gone out of it: why keep it up.
Amy! There¹s someone coming down the road!²          115
 
³You‹oh, you think the talk is all. I must go‹-
Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you‹‹²
 
³If‹you‹do!² She was opening the door wider.
Where do you mean to go? First tell me that.
I¹ll follow and bring you back by force. I will!-‹²   120