Things Grow New

Recently on my way to Barnes and Noble my eye was caught by one of the few remaining small used and new book shops that I know of. It's really old school, crowded, books placed horizontally atop the vertical ones lining the floor to ceiling shelves. That day a friend mentioned Nikki Giovonni to me, and then and there Giovonni's book, Blues For All The Changes, found me.

I looked for Chesterton and sure enough he was in the store. Years ago a mentor of mine introduced me to Chesterton, a man of faith and talent, a rare breed of poetic soul. And so I was compelled to purchase the used copy of Poems For All Purposes.

So much happens every day. At the moment I don't feel like blogging about the wonderful teaching moments I've had, the great Torah I've heard, the woderful Shabbos just passed. I may post again later.

I hope anyone who reads this page is well. Lately I've been in the habit of just posting a poem that strikes me with no words of my own attached. I broke that trend this time to say hi and let you know I think Chesterton is profound. I think I may be doing some more of that. Meanwhile, Happy Birthday Pete Seger (see tribute song/slide show here), Rest In Peace Jack Kemp, and G-d Bless Us All, Everyone.
i
'k

A Second Childhood

j
By C.K. Chesterton

_yh
When all my days are ending
And I have no song to sing,
I think I shall not be too old
To stare at everything;
As I stared once at a nursery door
Or a tall tree and a swing.

jbn
Wherein God's ponderous mercy hangs
On all my sins and me,
Because He does not take away
The terror from the tree
And stones still shine along the road
That are, and cannot be.

hn
Men grow too old for love, my love,
Men grow too old for wine,
But I shall not grow too old to see
Unearthly daylight shine,
Changing my chamber's dust to snow
Till I doubt if it be mine.

yh
Behold, the crowning mercies melt,
The first surprises stay;
And in my dross is dropped a gift
For which I dare not pray
That a man grow used to grief and joy
But not to night and day.
n
Men grow too old for love, my love,
Men grow too old for lies;
But I shall not grow too old to see
Enormous night arise,
A cloud that is larger than the world
And a monster made of eyes.

jj
Nor am I worthy to unloose
The latchet of my shoe;
Or shake the dust from off my feet
Or the staff that bears me through
On ground that is too good to last,
Too solid to be true.

gn
Men grow too old to woo, my love,
Men grow too old to wed:
But I shall not grow too old to see
Hung crazily overhead
Incredible rafters when I wake
And find I am not dead.
nn
A thrill of thunder in my hair:

Though blackening clouds be plain,

Still I am stung and startled

By the first drop of the rain:

Romance and pride and passion pass

And these are what remain.

hhh

Strange crawling carpets of the grass,

Wide windows of the sky:

So in this perilous grace of God

With all my sins go I:

And things grow new though I grow old,

Though I grow old and die.

nn

-G.K. Chesterton