Reckonings: a journal of justice, hope and history

Four images of spring at The Redwoods

 

 

 

 

 

Cry, Heart, But Never Break

Cry, Heart, But Never Break is the title of a children's book about death by the Danish author Glenn Ringtved and illustrator Charlotte Pardi, translated into English by Robert Moulthrop. It is celebrated today by Maria Popova in her lovely online weekly journal, Brain Pickings:

"Although Ringtved is celebrated for his humorous and mischievous stories, this contemplative tale sprang from the depths of his own experience — when his mother was dying and he struggled to explain what was happening to his young children, she offered some words of comfort: “Cry, Heart, but never break.” It was the grandmother’s way of assuring the children that the profound sadness of loss is to be allowed rather than resisted, then folded into the wholeness of life, which continues to unfold. (I’m reminded of Maria Kalman’s unforgettable words: “When Tibor died, the world came to an end. And the world did not come to an end. That is something you learn.”)"

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls

Longfellow's lovely, lyrical poem evokes a moving time of day−dusk, nightfall, twilight, the coming of darkness−as well as the finitude of our lives, in contrast to the ongoing, almost imperceptible movement of the rising and falling tides. A curlew is a large shorebird with a long curved beak perfectly suited to its natural nourishment: the invertebrates under the surface of the sand. A hostler, of course, cares for horses, most often at an inn.

 

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
     And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
     And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
     And the tide rises, the tide falls.

 

                − Henry Wadsworth Longfellow