This seems appropriately doloroso as we wait for results and bite our nails completely off (and realize just how many Americans are really terrible people).
from October
by Louise Gluck
4.
The light has changed;
middle C is tuned darker now.
And the songs of morning sound over-rehearsed.
This is the light of autumn, not the light of spring.
The light of autumn: you will not be spared
The songs have changed; the unspeakable
has entered them.
This is the light of autumn, not the light that says
I am reborn.
Not the spring dawn: I strained, I suffered, I was delivered.
This is the present, an allegory of waste.
So much has changed. And still, you are fortunate:
the ideal burns in you like a fever.
Or not like a fever, like a second heart.
The songs have changed, but really they are still quite beautiful.
They have been concentrated in a smaller space, the space of the mind.
They are dark, now, with desolation and anguish.
And yet the notes recur. They hover oddly
in anticipation of silence.
The ear gets used to them.
The eyes gets used to disappearances.
You will not be spared, nor will what you love be
spared.
A wind has come and gone, taking apart the mind;
it has left in its wake a strange lucidity.
How privileged you are, to be passionately
clinging to what you love;
the forfeit of hope has not destroyed you.
Maestro, doloroso:
This is the light of autumn; it has turned on us.
Surely it is a privilege to approach the end
still believing in something.
Angie Green
November 4, 2020 @ 11:36 am
Your blog has meant a lot to me this week. It’s shocking how many awful people we’ve got. Glad I have found your friendly oasis on the internet.
Karen
December 9, 2020 @ 9:23 am
Thank you! I’m glad you’re here. I had to remind myself over and over during the election that I’m not alone, there are good people out there. Glad they showed up.