I dedicate it to the memory of our beloved cousin, Matthew Andrew Tyrrell (April 17, 1985-March 9, 2008) May your memory be eternal!
Rest
Unwrap my body of its linen shroud
And clothe me in leaves of lily and jasmine.
Take my remains out of this ivory casket
And lay them on a couch of orange blossom.
Lament not over me, sons of my mother,
But sing you songs of youth and joy.
Shed not tears, O daughter of the fields,
But chant a poem of days of the harvest and the pressing.
Cover not my breast with weeping and sighing,
But write upon it with your fingers
The symbol of love and the sign of joy.
Disturb not the air's repose
With the chanting of priest and threnody,
But let your heart to exult with me
In praise of immortality and everlasting life.
Wear not the black of mourning,
But rejoice with me in white raiment.
Speak not in sorrow of my going,
But close your eyes and you shall see me among you,
Now and forevermore.
Lay me down upon leafy boughs,
Raise me high upon shoulders,
Then lead me slowly to the wild places.
Carry me not to a burying-place,
For the multitude's clamor disturbs my rest,
And the rattling of bones and skulls robs me of slumber.
Bear me to the forest of cypress trees
And on that place where the violet and anemone grow
Dig me a grave.
Dig my grave deep,
That the floods bear not my bones to the valley.
Dig my grave wide,
That the phantoms of night may come and sit beside me.
Cast aside these garments
And lead me naked to the earth's heart;
Lay me down softly
On my mother's breast.
Cover me with soft earth,
And with each sod
Sow the seeds of the wild rose and jasmine
That they may blossom upon my grave,
Nourished by the body's elements,
To grow and spread abroad
The fragrance of my heart;
And stand forth
Holding aloft in the sun's face
The secrets of my rest,
Swaying in the breeze
To tell the passer-by
Of my yearnings and my dreams that are gone.
Leave me now, sons of my mother–
Leave me in my aloneness.
Go hence with silent steps,
The going of the stillness in the empty valley.
Leave me in my solitude–and disperse
Like the almond and the apple blossom
Scattered by Nisan's breath.
Return you to your dwelling-places
And there shall you find that which Death cannot take
From you and me
Leave now this place,
Whom you seek is gone far from this world.
5 comments:
Mmm...wow. That is some powerful stuff, there. It is tempting to, out of a fear of death, ignore death as a means of coping, via denial, with the grim inevitably of being separated from those we love. This poem, despite the seriousness of its content, made me feel braver somehow. It really is very, very beautiful.
That is an amazing poem, Beth.
I love the way it celebrates the passing, embraces the physical results of death without being scared, nervous or fearful.
It expresses a very healthy view both for the dead and the living.
Thanks for sharing it.
~Michelle
This is a timely poem for me. A beloved family uncle died this week (he was 90, but it was still rather sudden) as did an old family friend. I think my great uncle would have agreed with this poem. He lived a remarkable, lovely life and deeply affected all of us. We will miss him.
All that to say, your poem is beautiful.
Beth,
I think I love most the part "lay me down softly as if upon my mother's breast," and also the idea of planting seeds with the body that will blossom above.
I think of this often, actually. We dream of having a "green" cemetery here beside the church. No embalming, simple pine caskets, bodies that can truly return to the earth.
Thank you all for your comments. And Jenny what a lovely thought to work on actualizing. Not to be morbid, but I have thought often about how I want to be buried and would rather not be embalmed and be buried in a simple casket. I believe there are some Trappists in the area and hope to call them at some point and see if they build such a thing.
Post a Comment