Wow, Bill - your enlarging on these death matters makes me think you've some short stories waiting to be written.
On 04/07/2012, at 2:09 PM, Bill Wootton wrote:
> Well, Max, I took the point of your first response and saw how the 'he' is moot. I sort of wanted to bring Death's limited perspective of things as embodied in the coffin at the start. Where I have indented, I changed it to 'a life' to indicate the shift. The mourners are not discussing Death or even death. It's the life they get embroiled in. But Mr. Death is always available to be glimpsed in the corner, He himself, is sightless, closed in, covered.
>
> I had not intended the canary to be a metaphor (canary in the coalmine?). This in fact literally happened. Ken, Chris's father, in hospital was working on what songs he wanted played at what point. For the coffin exit, he had wanted to trump a recent friend who had gone out to Benny Hill sped-up music. Ken called for My Canary which Chris's brother told the funeral director who passed it on to some local who mucked it up from behind his curtain. Chris's brother had to emerge, take his hand off the coffin opposite me and quickly find it on his laptop which had been being used to broadcast the pictures.
>
> I suppose I thought it was back to Death outside in the (unlikely) sun because death is usually associated with cold misery.
>
> Cheers,
> Bill
>
> On 04/07/2012, at 1:02 PM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>> deeply touching, Bill, but I have to mention how at moments I intuited wrongly -
>>
>> I had a silly notion that while still alive the dying man saw the coffin ordered for him!
>> as if this was some old peasant world indeed.
>>
>> The canary in the funeral service is a striking metaphor but for me distracting resonance.
>> Because death was 'he' at the start, I take a moment too long to grasp that the later 'he' is
>> the human 'in full glare'…?
>>
>> Max
>>
>> On 04/07/2012, at 8:06 AM, Bill Wootton wrote:
>>
>>> Death in the room,
>>>
>>> all glossy and brass handled,
>>> perched mutely in the corner,
>>>
>>> sees nothing of what has been organised
>>> around him. His cool varnished face
>>>
>>> deflects eyes straying there
>>> or braving his long, carved lines.
>>>
>>>
>>> Invoking no god, they celebrate a life
>>> of tireless exploits, of qualityfulness.
>>>
>>> Images of open-toothed smiles and cheeky grins play;
>>> his pre-war sepia self dances on imaginations,
>>>
>>> blends with tales of his non-judgmental recent ways.
>>> A hall full of appreciation and restraint.
>>>
>>> Shuffles, while a sound system hiccough is righted.
>>> My canary, eventually, has circles under his eyes.
>>>
>>>
>>> Suddenly, he's in full glare, half hoisted
>>> hip high, gliding into the bright afternoon.
>>>
>>> Shoes shift-slide on gravel; yellow roses
>>> land on his shiny self. Now he's ready,
>>>
>>> wreaking sunny tears from the living.
>>>
>>>
>>> Bill Wootton
>>
>>
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