Such is Life

Today, a Sunday, happens to be a celebration of two events – Mothers Day (in Australia) and it is also Magucha’s birthday. She would have been 68 today.

 

I’m pulled in two directions – to celebrate the fact that motherhood is celebrated partly because it is something that no man can fully understand and also that this is not only Magucha’s birthday but that she is no longer in this world to share it with us. 

 

Motherhood, in fact life generally wasn’t easy in Zimbabwe (still known as Rhodesia in those far off days) but I did try my best to support Magucha in what was a very difficult time for her. She was married to a non-Portuguese speaker (me), in a "foreign country" (Zimbabwe) without close family or her mother’s support. Her mother did eventually fly out from Portugal to lend support. That didn’t last long and after a few weeks she returned to Portugal – I’m not sure of the reasons now but I believe it was because of the (usual) arguments that erupted between the two and my dedicated support of Magucha wouldn’t have helped smooth over the daily "eruptions".

 

Magucha was a devoted mother. She was so proud of firstly (against all medical advice) falling pregnant and then producing a beautiful daughter. The fear expressed by her doctor was that her already compromised kidneys would fail thereby threatening the lives of both mother and child.

 

I’ve written about this before but when Magucha’s waters broke and I took her to what was then known as the Lady Chancellor Maternity Hospital, I was presented with a document to sign. If a "medical situation" arose that threatened the life of either mother or baby or both did I want the mother to live at the "expense" of the baby or did I want the baby to live at the "expense" of the mother!  

 

That was the most difficult decision I’ve ever been called upon to make! I knew that if Magucha lived at the "expense" of the baby, she would never have forgiven me. That I know for certain – it would have always been a dark shadow over our relationship, even if that could continue. 

 

On the other-hand what was I supposed to do, as a working single parent in Zimbabwe, with a new-born baby and a 7yr old son? My mother was too old to be of much assistance, and in any event she and my father were living in a retirement home some 60 km away.

 

Fortunately the stars must have been properly aligned because both survived. And the rest, as the saying goes, is history.

 

So I now celebrate the two – a birthday and Mothers Day –  but without the person directly involved. 

And by way of celebration I (as is my usual way) offer this poem – for mothers everywhere and especially for Magucha – that poor girl suffered ill health for as long as I knew her.

 

The Anvil

Stand like a beaten anvil, when thy dream

            Is laid upon thee, golden from the fire.

Flinch not, though heavily through that furnace-gleam

            The black forge-hammers fall on thy desire.

 

Demoniac giants round thee seem to loom.

‘Tis but the world-smiths heaving to and fro.

Stand like a beaten anvil. Take the doom 

            Their ponderous weapons deal thee, blow on blow.

 

Needful to truth as dew-fall to the flower

            Is this wild wrath and this implacable scorn.

For every pang, new beauty, and new power,

            Burning blood-red shall on thy heart be born.

 

Stand like a beaten anvil. Let earth’s wrong

Beat on that iron and ring back in song.

 

                                                            Alfred Noyes

It's a world of partings

It’s a very true saying – that this is “a world of partings”. There is no need to get maudlin about it. It just is what it is. Friends parting; young family members going their separate ways in the world; divorce; then the most confronting parting of all – death.

 

Nothing anyone can do about it. But, as I have written before, no one knows or has the least understanding of the “meaning” of Life (with a capital L) or what happens when some previously living organism is now dead. What happens to the “Life force” that enervated or activated that organism and which is now (apparently) absent? No one has the least idea.

 

Many, many years ago, when I and the world was much younger, I came across a poem that intrigued me without my fully understanding what it meant. Now, after both my marriages ended with the death of my wife and the death of my sibling, parents and many friends I think I, more or less, understand it now (maybe I’m just a slow learner!).

 

In neither situation, regarding my marriages, was I able to do anything. Obviously, one cannot “fight” death!

 

But I’m still intrigued by this poem!

 

The Shadow.

 

The Shadow leaned over me, whispering, in the darkness,

            Thoughts without sound; 

Sorrowful thoughts that filled me with helpless wonder

            And held me bound.

 

Sadder than memory, sharp as remorse, in the quiet

            Before I slept,

The whisper I heard of the one implacable Shadow,

            And my heart wept.

 

“Day by day, in your eyes, the light grows dimmer,

            With the joy you have sung.

You knew it would go; but, ah, when you knew it and 

      sang it,

            Your heart was young;

 

“And a year to you, then, was an age; but now” said

      The Shadow,

            Malignant and cold,

“The light and the colour are fading, the ecstasy dying,

            It is time to grow old.”

 

Oh, I could have borne the worst that he had to tell me,

            Lost youth, age, death;

But he turned to breathe on the quiet heart sleeping 

     beside me

            The same cold breath.

 

And there by the throat I grappled him. “Let me bear

     all of it.

            Let her dream on.”

Soundlessly, shadow with shadow, we wrestled together,

            Till the grey dawn.

 

                                                            Alfred Noyes.

What next?

Sometimes it is difficult to formulate my thoughts into some semblance of order. So I stare at the screen wondering what is next. And this time of year always brings forth a host of memories, as is natural I suppose.

 

I know all to well that nearly five years have rolled by since Magucha died but that indisputable fact doesn’t make it any easier to accept. And, while I know that I have written about this before I just cannot believe that with her death Magucha’s indefinable “spirit” that was evidenced by her courage, her utter fearlessness (I never saw her afraid of anything, not ever), her intelligence, her mischievous sense of humour, her innate sense of justice and, of course, her love, have just disappeared into nothing. That doesn’t make any sense to me. 

 

Her presence is all around me. Or at least it pleases me to believe so.

 

Therefor as always when I feel the need to express the inexpressible I turn to poetry. I offer the following:-  

 

Journey’s End

 

Knowe’st thou where that kingdom lies?

            Take no lanthorn in thy hand.

Search not the unfathomed skies.

            Journey not o’er sea and land.

Grope no more to east or west.

Heaven is locked within thy breast.

 

Splendours of the sun grow dim,

            Stars are darkened by that light.

Thoughts that burn like seraphim

            Throng thine inner world tonight.

Set thy heel on Death and find

Love, new-born, within thy mind.

 

In that kingdom folded lie

            All that eyes believe they see;

All the hues of earth and sky,

            Time, space, and eternity.

Seek no more in realms apart.

Heaven is folded in thy heart.

 

                                                Alfred Noyes

 

Uncompromised Love.

Love has always been the driving force of life. And by “love” I do not just mean passion though that obviously plays a part. I am talking about the love between friends; between husband and wife (or the equivalent partners) that develops after many years of life together; between parents and their children and love for Humanity. That kind of love – which IS uncompromised.

The power of love is recognized in poetry, in song, in novels and literature, in art and in opera - it is the power that drives us all. This cannot be just “chemicals in the brain” or hormonal juices, there is much more to it than that!

Now I loved my wife in a manner that I find difficult to portray in a meaningful way to others. Tenderness – yes; closeness – yes; deep understanding – yes; ability to communicate without necessarily speaking – yes; trust – yes; talking about problems – yes; sharing – yes; respect – yes, all this and more that I do not have the words to explain.

While neither of us was in anyway saintly, there was a fulfillment that seemed to make the two of us stronger in our own way. Magucha was an amazingly strong person, not physically strong (she was very small in stature) but emotionally and mentally she was spring steel. Her resilience, which defied all that the world could throw at her, astonished everyone with whom she came in contact.

This strength – which I, for one, found quite inspiring – is epitomized by the following poem by Alfred Noyes, and this is for her:

The Anvil

Stand like a beaten anvil, when thy dream

            Is laid upon thee, golden from the fire.

Flinch not, though heavily through that furnace-gleam

            The black forge-hammers fall on thy desire.

Demoniac giants round thee seem to loom.

‘Tis but the world-smiths heaving to and fro.

Stand like a beaten anvil. Take the doom 

            Their ponderous weapons deal thee, blow on blow.

Needful to truth as dew-fall to the flower

            Is this wild wrath and this implacable scorn.

For every pang, new beauty, and new power,

            Burning blood-red shall on thy heart be born.

Stand like a beaten anvil. Let earth’s wrong

Beat on that iron and ring back in song.