Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium
A dear friend, sending me a package of special teas, advised that a cup of tea can do wonders.
This is probably true. But for me, the real cup of tea lies in the lines of the Great Poets—all male at this time, unfortunately. It will probably take another century for women poets to be granted the training and the access that has fueled the works we now call great.
But I am very grateful for what we have.
“About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking duly along.”What is it about our world that destroys our young men?
This is W.H. Auden’s “Musée des Beaux Arts”, a poem on Pieter Bruegel’s 16th century painting Landscape with the Fall of Icarus:
Auden writes,
“how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman
May have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.”
The obliviousness of the universe to human suffering, even down to the “torturer’s horse scratching its innocent behind” is oddly comforting. If the whole universe were darkened by our suffering—as sometimes in the dreary early morning of a rainy day, it seems to be—life could not go on. We depend on forgetting, even with its bitter edge.
Will walking away on the edge of a sunburned field at Wolf Pen Farm is one of my favorite views of him. He died, not on the farm he loved in Kentucky, but in the scrub foothills of southern Colorado.
And life, in its beautiful and inexorable way, goes on.
But there is something to be thought about here—or many things. Among my close group of seven women friends, three have lost sons to suicide.
What is it about our world that destroys our young men?
Sallie, this image—both the picture of Will and the fall of Icarus—are so right and true. The Auden poem speaks volumes and so beautifully. I’m glad you can turn to poetry for it does offer comfort. I hold you and your sweet son deep in my heart.
Sarah
Sallie, I have thought of you and your family often after hearing of Will’s death. Most sincerely, Martha Neal
Sallie – I’m so sorry to read of the loss of your dear son Will. With love, Mark B. In Toronto
What you have written and reflected on here, Sallie, is something I consider very often now. Someone we know-even quite well- dies and life really does go on. So-there we have it- we will not be particularly missed ourselves except by those truly engaged with us daily. Neville said he can see it now (as you know we live by the 17th green of the LCC and can be seen by golfers if all the leaves aren’t out).. two men will be putting and one will look up, and seeing our house will say,”What ever happened to ole Blakemore? Haven’t seen him in awhile.” Then, the other will add,”Oh, he died a few weeks ago-nice enough in his odd sort of way..do you think this put will make it?”
But on the other hand a son is a son… and for any mother, that goes to deep places. I send you my love as always.
No words can console the loss of one’s child. What an interesting person Will must have been! What potential he carried with him in his inexplicable search. In a sense Sallie, your loss is our loss. There’s a lot to be said for simply getting through it, carrying on despite “the benign indifference of the universe.”
But, nothing’s simple & sharing the fullness of your story may help the rest of us carry on as best we can. May your best memories with Will brighten these dark days & nights.
My mom always said there is no greater pain than losing a child. It is not in the “natural order” of things. Losing Mom was so terribly hard, I cannot fathom the loss of a child. You’re in my thoughts and prayers.