The Full Glass Now Empty

1932-2009

Not much more to say than reiterating what a deep loss Mr Updike's passing is to those of us who cherished his work and worth. His last New Yorker essay, The Full Glass is a poignant vestige.

Sump'in for Friday...

New Year...

ANOTHER full-orbed year hath waned to-day,

And set in the irrevocable past,

And headlong whirled long

Time's winged blast

My fluttering rose of youth is borne away: Ah rose once crimson with the blood of May,

A honeyed haunt where bees would break their fast,

I watch thy scattering petals flee aghast,

And all the flickering rose-lights turning grey.

______________________

Poor fool of life! plagued ever with thy vain Regrets and futile longings! were the years Not cups o'erbrimming still with gall and tears?

Let go thy puny personal joy and pain!

If youth with all its brief hope disappears,

To deathless hope we must be born again.


-Mathilde Blind