It's incredibly difficult to write a love poem. I should specify that I am referring to human love - the love between two partners. It's an onerous task because the topic has been covered repetitively in the literary corpus. One has to be creative and present their story in a manner which distinguishes it from the others. Otherwise the work just seems mundane and unimaginative. This is where the poetic masters shine. They know how to tell a story like it's never been told before. The poem below by Yeats exemplifies the unique character of a well versed love story. Following the reading is a brief reflection on some aspects of this work. 

When You Are Old

By: William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

The poem, "When you are old," by W.B. Yeats is a beautifully crafted story about an alluring and classy woman who was admired by several men. The genuine nature of their love for her was 

questionable. But, one man stood out distinctively among the rest. He loved her in her most troubled of times (.."loved the sorrows of your changing face"). His admiration for her didn't alter with time - rather it grew as she changed over the years - be it physically, emotionally, socially or psychologically ("..one man loved the pilgrim soul in you). The work concludes on the theme of loss. The tragic death of ones' lover("how Love fled...And hid his face amid a crowd of stars").

I love the rhythm of this poem. The way it takes you from the present  (1st paragraph) to the past (2nd paragraph) to the near present (3rd paragraph). The language is sweet and delicate - it doesn't impose feelings of gaiety or sorrow upon its audience. Instead, these words provide readers with space to appreciate the story and allow their sentiments to develop appropriately at their own free will. Herein is the meritorious aspect of fine writing. This space left for interpretation enables readers to bring in their own experiences to the work. In so doing, readers gain a bona fide appreciation of the poet's work while simultaneously gaining a deeper, at times philosophical, understanding of their personal experiences or their existence as a whole. 

The first snow of the season has arrived. I just came home after ice-skating with some buddies.  Now i'm sippin' on green tea and sitting by the heater - trying to recirculate my fingers and toes :)

In light of keeping an optimistic attitude towards the cold weather, here's a short, sweet and simple poem that fits perfectly with the winter season.  

Dust of Snow

By: Robert Frost

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

I came upon this piece while reading from Whitman's "Leaves of Grass and Selected Prose." I found this book at the Trillium Hospital. There is an awesome bookshelf by the Emergency entrance where new books arrive daily (I still have yet to figure out who actually brings them in) and for a small donation to the hospital the item is all yours to keep!

I'll post the poem first. Following the poem is a brief explication of the lines according to my understanding of the work.

PS: Don't read poetry. Vocalize it. It works wonders.

"Thought" 

By: Walt Whitman

Of persons arrived at high positions, ceremonies, wealth, 
scholarships, and the like; 
(To me all that those persons have arrived at sinks away from them, 
except as it results to their bodies and souls, 
So that often to me they appear gaunt and naked, 
And often to me each one mocks the others, and mocks himself or herself, 
And of each one the core of life, namely happiness, is full of the 
rotten excrement of maggots, 
And often to me those men and women pass unwittingly the true 
realities of life, and go toward false realities, 
And often to me they are alive after what custom has served them, 
but nothing more, 
And often to me they are sad, hasty, unwaked sonnambules walking the dusk.)

This work by Whitman asserts the negative impact that the desire for status and wealth has on the souls of individuals. He reminds the reader that such aspirations lead people to seek "false realities" at the expense of "true realities" in life. Consequently, they acquire a deluded understanding of happiness which is based on the never ceasing lust for money and societal praise. Their well-being and delight in life is established on these ostentatious practices. But for a man who understands the true realities of life, a man of intellect like Whitman, he can see beyond their prestigious and cheerful facade. He sees with disgust "gaunt and naked" individuals. Those who ridicule, "mock," others to reach their goals. They ruthlessly fence through the crowd to reach the top - without concern for those they have debased and degraded on their path. And when their target is reached, they experience a short-lived euphoria, for they have accomplished, according to societal "custom," the pinnacle of life - status and money. But all they have arrived at "sinks." Because it all fades as each season brings about a new individual in each community - one with more status and money than the others.  The seekers of societal glory struggle daily to maintain their positions of authority a midst their competitors.  Their aspiration for fame forever entraps them in a vicious cycle of the souls' destruction prior to their bodily destruction. This tragedy is captured when Whitman describes their final destination as "unwaked sonnambules walking through the dusk."

On my lunch break at the moment( i'm spending all day at the Eating Disorders Clinic at CVH today) and thought this would be the perfect time to finally begin my first entry. My 25th birthday is tomorrow, Alhumdulillah, and since this quarter-century milestone has arrived, I need to make sure my bucket list keeps getting the checks it deserves. I love literature, politics, medicine, theology, art, volunteering, working with marginalized populations and so much more. Medicine takes up most of time at present - but I need a place to consolidate my non-medical interests to stay sane. So this is the perfect cheesy 25th birthday gift to myself :)

Here's to venturing upon new worlds through the minds of incredible poets, authors, revolutionary thinkers and the everyday life lessons I learn from my friends, family, my patients, teachers and my favorite, good Samaritan strangers.