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Location: Eastbourne, United Kingdom

Friday, November 09, 2007

Letting go. 4


It is eighteen years ago, almost to the day --
A sunny day with the leaves just turning,
The touch-lines new-ruled -- since I watched you play
Your first game of football, then, like a satellite
Wrenched from its orbit, go drifting away

Behind a scatter of boys. I can see
You walking away from me towards the school
With the pathos of a half-fledged thing set free
Into a wilderness, the gait of one
Who finds no path where the path should be.

That hesitant figure, eddying away
Like a winged seed loosened from its parent stem,
Has something I never quite grasp to convey
About nature's give-and-take -- the small, the scorching
Ordeals which fire one's irresolute clay.

I have had worse partings, but none that so
Gnaws at my mind still. Perhaps it is roughly
Saying what God alone could perfectly show --
How selfhood begins with a walking away,
And love is proved in the letting go.--

(Cecil Day Lewis wrote this poem for his first-born son, Sean.)


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