Quebec 1
Anciens Combatteurs
Honoured Vetrans
I come to visit my gransire
In a place associated with death, men who have danced with lady death await her for last call.
Yet they are not the wall flowers waiting along the sides but the extroverts taking the dance floor enjoying thier time while the song of life still plays.
I walk through the halls expecting to find a place quiet like a tomb and smelling the healing/dying smell you expect in a hospital, and it does, but not.
Quiet yes, smelling yes, stillness...No?
There is life in the rooms that counterpoints the desert in the halls.
In my intended oasis I find not an old war horse waiting for the knackers yard, I find an aged tiger looking for some game to play.
And from his seat on high he plays with his cub and his grand-cubs.
Animation concealed behind an inadequate frame reveals itself with jokes, comments, and conversation.
when I leave I see this place in a new light, I see where the sun has been made to shine.
I head out the door where few of my peers wish to tread, soon to be without my escort.
I'm on my own with savages of my own kind.
I walk into a house supposedly a place for the dying, and find myself thinking it more feels like a zoo. Not the zoo where you see dead souls in the animal's eyes, but a zoo where the animals were once free, but now are confined...and perhaps even happy. My grandfather was a veteran(called Anciens Combatteurs amoung the quebecois) also known as "one of those who lived" there's an image of vetran's hospitals as the place where those who live wait to have the oppourtunity to to visit those who didn't in person. I don't find that to be the case.
If I were to introduce my grandfather to you, I imagine youèd be shocked that I tower about a foot and a half over him, you might also be shocked by how much his hands shake, how weak this man may seem, or how dated his english might feel. Every time he speaks I always feel that his language never left the 30's for his rythmn feels the same as a dancer, always swinging, Animated. But, after the many visits I've done over the years I have learned to ignore some of his physicalness as a sign of how he's doing and learned to read his eyes and his voice. His english voice is the dapper, amusing, and only slightly influence by the british that I grew up remembering. His French is educated, dynamic, and witty. But I didn't feel compelled to write this until I saw his eyes. My Grandfather has the eyes of a tiger.
They don't miss much, nor do they seem dead, or souless, they show a full being, still enjoying itself, not stagnating, but trapped. By age, by physical inability, by disease, trapped, but not submitting. Like a tiger who HAS hunted big prey, who HAS mated and enjoyed it, who has procreated fine cubs, and who is content, but not quite ready to let the forest take it. As I looked around this place, in this hospital I noted the same thing about all the patients, tired but not dead, Old but not unhappy, Ready...MAYBE...but not quite that ready yet.
I saw a photo album of my grandfather's I saw photos of him when he was at the RCAF training, I saw his smiles, and a part of his life. To call this educational is a severe understatement, I saw my grandparents wedding picture and saw in full youth what they looked like. To match thier personalities I saw the people that fell in love to create my father who then created me. It was something I feel gave me more perspective and made up for the lack of stories of my grandparents' youth. That I recieved from my Mother's parents.
Such a great beginning, and my vacation has just started.
Honoured Vetrans
I come to visit my gransire
In a place associated with death, men who have danced with lady death await her for last call.
Yet they are not the wall flowers waiting along the sides but the extroverts taking the dance floor enjoying thier time while the song of life still plays.
I walk through the halls expecting to find a place quiet like a tomb and smelling the healing/dying smell you expect in a hospital, and it does, but not.
Quiet yes, smelling yes, stillness...No?
There is life in the rooms that counterpoints the desert in the halls.
In my intended oasis I find not an old war horse waiting for the knackers yard, I find an aged tiger looking for some game to play.
And from his seat on high he plays with his cub and his grand-cubs.
Animation concealed behind an inadequate frame reveals itself with jokes, comments, and conversation.
when I leave I see this place in a new light, I see where the sun has been made to shine.
I head out the door where few of my peers wish to tread, soon to be without my escort.
I'm on my own with savages of my own kind.
I walk into a house supposedly a place for the dying, and find myself thinking it more feels like a zoo. Not the zoo where you see dead souls in the animal's eyes, but a zoo where the animals were once free, but now are confined...and perhaps even happy. My grandfather was a veteran(called Anciens Combatteurs amoung the quebecois) also known as "one of those who lived" there's an image of vetran's hospitals as the place where those who live wait to have the oppourtunity to to visit those who didn't in person. I don't find that to be the case.
If I were to introduce my grandfather to you, I imagine youèd be shocked that I tower about a foot and a half over him, you might also be shocked by how much his hands shake, how weak this man may seem, or how dated his english might feel. Every time he speaks I always feel that his language never left the 30's for his rythmn feels the same as a dancer, always swinging, Animated. But, after the many visits I've done over the years I have learned to ignore some of his physicalness as a sign of how he's doing and learned to read his eyes and his voice. His english voice is the dapper, amusing, and only slightly influence by the british that I grew up remembering. His French is educated, dynamic, and witty. But I didn't feel compelled to write this until I saw his eyes. My Grandfather has the eyes of a tiger.
They don't miss much, nor do they seem dead, or souless, they show a full being, still enjoying itself, not stagnating, but trapped. By age, by physical inability, by disease, trapped, but not submitting. Like a tiger who HAS hunted big prey, who HAS mated and enjoyed it, who has procreated fine cubs, and who is content, but not quite ready to let the forest take it. As I looked around this place, in this hospital I noted the same thing about all the patients, tired but not dead, Old but not unhappy, Ready...MAYBE...but not quite that ready yet.
I saw a photo album of my grandfather's I saw photos of him when he was at the RCAF training, I saw his smiles, and a part of his life. To call this educational is a severe understatement, I saw my grandparents wedding picture and saw in full youth what they looked like. To match thier personalities I saw the people that fell in love to create my father who then created me. It was something I feel gave me more perspective and made up for the lack of stories of my grandparents' youth. That I recieved from my Mother's parents.
Such a great beginning, and my vacation has just started.