Thursday, February 14, 2013

THINGS THAT SLIP AWAY IN TIME


It's been said that the two keys to happiness are a good appetite and a bad memory.  I have never failed to meet the first requirement, and as I proceed into my seventies, I am assured that nature itself will take care of the second.  Indeed, as I read the following poem by Billy Collins last night, I felt myself smiling in recognition of the man who is stirred emotionally by a moon that seems to have drifted out of a love poem that he once knew by heart.


                                        Forgetfulness

                 The name of the author is the first to go

                 followed obediently by the title, the plot,
                 the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
                 which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of.

                 It is as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor

                 decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
                 to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

                 Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye

                 and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
                 and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

                 something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,

                 the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

                 Whatever it is you are struggling to remember

                 it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
                 not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

                 It has floated away down the dark mythological river

                 whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
                 well on your way to oblivion where you will join those
                 who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

                 No wonder you rise in the middle of the night

                 to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
                 No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
                 out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.


There is no need to fret, of course; indeed, for most of us, there are many things that are perhaps best forgotten.  As for the other things, it's well to remember (if we can) what Nietzsche said:  "The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time."

14 comments:

  1. That is a great poem and I totally relate. fun too.

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    1. Thanks, Gwen, especially for pointing out the fun and humor in the poem. It's good to laugh one's way through the aging process, and I think that's one thing Collins had in mind here.

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  2. I just love this Billy Collins poem. He has such a delightful way of looking at life. Yes, the "little fishing village where there are no phones... " The image is perfect.

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    1. Thanks, Teresa. Yes, I think you are spot on — there is indeed a lot of delight in the poetry of Billy Collins. And that line about the little fishing village without phones is especially funny when you realize that he was referring to the southern hemisphere of the brain.

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  3. I love this poem by — oh, who was it by? — and feel I'm identifying more and more with it as I grow older. So clever, so amusing and so true.

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    1. For some reason, Robert, I find this poem to be vaguely reassuring. Among other things, it reminds of the futility of remaining in denial about the inevitable. It also demonstrates that humor is a wonderful antidote for almost any kind of loss.

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  4. Such a delight, this poem. I hear it in his voice, deadpan, which makes it even better. His poems usually get big laughs at readings, and he rarely cracks a smile.

    I think your comment to Robert says it best. If we can laugh about what we are becoming, we'll probably be all right. In fact, I wonder if that is at least part of the reason that we start forgetting things: as we get into these twilight years we don't worry so much about the the small stuff.

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    1. Thanks, Ruth. Maybe you're on to something here. Maybe a decline in memory is one of the blessings that comes with the years — something tinged with grace. To remember everything would seem to be a recipe for chaos.

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  5. Your Nietzche quote reminded me of what a hill walking friend says about the decline of her memory - not remembering if you've climbed a hill before makes all hill walks an adventure.

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    1. Well said, Dominic, and I agree wholeheartedly.

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  6. Yes George, Dominic's comment is a good metaphor for a happy life I think. I try to keep the filing cabinet inside my head in something like working order by oiling well with various Brain Games and by recalling lists whenever I can - but I am not sure it makes all that much difference. Usually if I forget something like a capital city or the name of a person it comes to me in a flash in the middle of the night.

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    1. The important things, Pat, are to remain optimistic, to stay as active as possible, and to accept what comes one's way. Based on what I am able to discern, I would say that you score high in all categories.

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  7. Is Billy writing about me? I don't remember knowing him.

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    1. Ha! I think he was writing about all of us, Barb.

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