“And
now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing: O my onely light,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fell all night.”
In
her 1989 volume, Tributes (“I relate
/ My debts and give back what I’ve taken, grace”), published when she was
sixty-three, Elizabeth Jennings repays a poetic and spiritual debt in “For
George Herbert”: “When I’ve been low I’ve
felt your deference / To all that dogs mankind / And all that also gives him
happiness. / It is within your words.” In an earlier poem, “Accepted” (Growing Points, 1975), Jennings echoes
Herbert’s “now in age I bud again”:
“You
are no longer young,
Nor
are you very old.
There
are homes where those belong.
You
know you do not fit
When
you observe the cold
Stares
of those who sit
“In
bath-chairs or the park
(A
stick, then, at their side)
Or
find yourself in the dark
And
see the lovers who,
In
love and in their stride,
Don't
even notice you.
“This
is a time to begin
Your
life. It could be new.
The
sheer not fitting in
With
the old who envy you
And
the young who want to win,
Not
knowing false from true,
“Means
you have liberty
Denied
to their extremes.
At
last now you can be
What
the old cannot recall
And
the young long for in dreams,
Yet
still include them all.”
My
new motto: “This is a time to begin / Your life.”
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