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As I contemplate yet another birthday, this, one of the famous ‘ends in zero’ years, I thought I’d post perhaps my favorite poem, at least of the last decade — by Taha Muhammad Ali.
TWIGS
Neither music,
fame, nor wealth,
not even poetry itself,
could provide consolation
for life’s brevity,
or the fact that King Lear
is a mere eighty pages long and comes to an end,
and for the thought that one might suffer greatly
on account of a rebellious child.
My love for you
is what’s magnificent,
but I, you, and the others,
most likely,
are ordinary people.
My poem
goes beyond poetry
because you
exist
beyond the realm of women.
And so
it has taken me
all of sixty years
to understand
that water is the finest drink,
and bread the most delicious food,
and that art is worthless
unless it plants
a measure of splendor in people’s hearts.
After we die,
and the weary heart
has lowered its final eyelid
on all that we’ve done,
and on all that we’ve longed for,
and all that we’ve dreamt of,
all we’ve desired
or felt,
hate will be
the first thing
to turn to dust
within us.
–Taha Muhammad Ali (1989-91)
Translated by Peter Cole, Yahya Hijazi, Gabriel Levin
I like short poems that speak volumes about life’s brevity. Few young people have the courage to face mortality and devote time to thinking about what wisdom means and how hard it is to acquire. So celebration of love and a measure of splendor (about art and let’s say music, too) is a joy everyone deserves upon reaching the end of six decades. My guess is that you have experienced no hatred to putrify–just heated disrespect. Onward and upward and just keep talking!
Yes, isn’t it fine! As to birthdays, we are at that point when some days we think it’s gone on much too long, and other days wonder why it has gone by so fast.
You and Mr. Muhammad Ali have managed to hit one out of the ballpark today. Like most days.
No fretting over the birthday. Celebrating is good, fretting — not so much.