Nantucket, No. 7
Fear of Death
What is it now with me
And is it as I have become?
Is there no state free from the boundary lines
Of before and after? The window is open today
And the air pours in with piano notes
In its skirts, as though to say, "Look, John,
I’ve brought these and these"-that is,
A few Beethovens, some Brahmses
A few choice Poulenc notes. . . Yes,
It is being free again, the air, it has to keep coming back
Because that’s all it’s good for.
I want to stay with it out of fear
That keeps me from walking up certain steps,
Knocking at certain doors, fear of growing old
Alone, and of finding no one at the evening end
Of the path except another myself
Nodding a curt greeting: "Well, you’ve been awhile
But now we’re back together, which is what counts."
Air in my path, you could shorten this,
But the breeze has dropped, and silence is the last word.
- John Ashbery
It's late in the grey afternoon. While it lasted, the sun poured itself over everything like syrup. The pitch was too green and too warm, and I did headstands with Hannah when I should have been scrimmaging. At a recital later, I heard The Nantucket Songs by Ned Rorem. Chad and I walked the length of south campus- first through Baldwin, where I learned I will have three tall windows in my room next year, which means curtains and flowers. Then J House, where we sat a while on the porch swing and discussed the merits of this far-removed section of Oberlin; it hardly feels like the college at all. We explored rooms in Old Barrows, which has a slave quarters I think, and the old barn behind J House that looks possessed even in the daytime. The safety I felt walking the lengths and breadths of campus is of paramount importance. There is not a place in this city where I am not welcome. Heads are up, hearts are open. If Oberlin is plagued by any undercurrents of anxiety or sadness, one would never know it. Everywhere, there are faces and bare feet, there is music playing; it is the only hearbeat I feel.
What is it now with me
And is it as I have become?
Is there no state free from the boundary lines
Of before and after? The window is open today
And the air pours in with piano notes
In its skirts, as though to say, "Look, John,
I’ve brought these and these"-that is,
A few Beethovens, some Brahmses
A few choice Poulenc notes. . . Yes,
It is being free again, the air, it has to keep coming back
Because that’s all it’s good for.
I want to stay with it out of fear
That keeps me from walking up certain steps,
Knocking at certain doors, fear of growing old
Alone, and of finding no one at the evening end
Of the path except another myself
Nodding a curt greeting: "Well, you’ve been awhile
But now we’re back together, which is what counts."
Air in my path, you could shorten this,
But the breeze has dropped, and silence is the last word.
- John Ashbery
It's late in the grey afternoon. While it lasted, the sun poured itself over everything like syrup. The pitch was too green and too warm, and I did headstands with Hannah when I should have been scrimmaging. At a recital later, I heard The Nantucket Songs by Ned Rorem. Chad and I walked the length of south campus- first through Baldwin, where I learned I will have three tall windows in my room next year, which means curtains and flowers. Then J House, where we sat a while on the porch swing and discussed the merits of this far-removed section of Oberlin; it hardly feels like the college at all. We explored rooms in Old Barrows, which has a slave quarters I think, and the old barn behind J House that looks possessed even in the daytime. The safety I felt walking the lengths and breadths of campus is of paramount importance. There is not a place in this city where I am not welcome. Heads are up, hearts are open. If Oberlin is plagued by any undercurrents of anxiety or sadness, one would never know it. Everywhere, there are faces and bare feet, there is music playing; it is the only hearbeat I feel.