Jack realised then that his father had stopped smoking. He was profoundly impressed. It made him realise as other things had not how important this job was to Jerry. He felt that perhaps older people needed satisfactory jobs even more than young ones; they had narrower worlds. They needed hard edges, secure boundaries to their lives. Somehow this made Jerry seem remote: Jack had never felt this before.
He listened, grinned, joked, and all the time there was this unassuageable pain of loneliness in his heart. It wasn’t a boy’s loneliness any longer, but a man’s. He felt he might go through life with this longing, this sensation that there was a pit inside him, never to be filled. He faced up to it, looked at it carefully: it was like a kind of haunting, as irrational and inherently terrifying. Now he knew he had seen its traces on many faces. It was what made old people withdraw into themselves, peering out suspiciously through tiny windows at the world, as the reclusive pensioners of Towser’s house peered at him. it was not that they were defensive in their loneliness: it had changed them to a different kind of person, that was all.
From Ruth Park’s ‘Swords and Crown and Rings’
I’ve mentioned Ruth Park before.
She’s most famous for her novel The Harp in the South. She also wrote a much-loved series for young children called the Muddle-Headed Wombat books. In my adolescence, I devoured her novel for young adults, Playing Beattie Bow.
I hadn’t read any of her other novels until I came across Swords and Crowns and Rings at my library. Written in 1977, it’s a wonderful read, full of observations and thoughts still relevant today.
This I love: this unassuageable pain of loneliness in his heart.
Words like that — they quicken your heart.
Don’t turn your head.
Keep looking at the bandaged place.
This is where the light enters you.
This quote is attributed to Rumi.
His words give me hope:
I like to think they might even be true.
A word in your ear about the Brontes …
Lena has brought Wuthering Heights with her. It’s one of her favorites; she’s read it six times. Aviva borrowed it from her once but found Heathcliff repellent, Catherine incomprehensible. The characters gnashed their teeth, shrieked, struck their heads on hard objects until they bled. Everyone sneered and was agitated. Aviva doesn’t understand what Lena finds so compelling.
“It’s the way Heathcliff can’t think about anything but her,” says Lena. “The way he would rather be damned to hell — and they really believed in hell back then — than be separated from her.”
“I wouldn’t want him to think about me even for a minute,” says Aviva. “Him and those dogs? Please.”
from ‘The Virgins’
by Pamela Erens.
I’ve never been a fan of the Brontes. (Jane and Rochester? Please.)
It appears I’m in good company!
A poem I love:
[Original source: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-watch-11/]
I wakened on my hot, hard bed;
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went
Like my continual discontent,
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick;
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick.
Frances Darwin Cornford
I love this poem –
its feverishness; its rhythm; its deceptive, despairing simplicity.
The best poetry, I think, is simple but true.
This is the first in a series of posts where I feature poems or quotes I love. It was Jane Brocket who first alerted me to Francis Darwin Cornford. She quoted another poem by Cornford on her blog.
(Oh, and in case you’re wondering – the quoted material itself doesn’t count towards my self-imposed quota of twenty-one words!)