I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God.
She thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth she's unusually competent.
Brave too, able to face unpleasantness.
We found a caterpillar dying in the dirt, greedy ants crawling over it.
I'm always moved by disaster, always eager to oppose vitality
But timid also, quick to shut my eyes.
Whereas my friend was able to watch, to let events play out
According to nature. For my sake she intervened
Brushing a few ants off the torn thing, and set it down
Across the road.
My friend says I shut my eyes to God, that nothing else explains
My aversion to reality. She says I'm like the child who
Buries her head in the pillow
So as not to see, the child who tells herself
That light causes sadness-
My friend is like the mother. Patient, urging me
To wake up an adult like herself, a courageous person-
In my dreams, my friend reproaches me. We're walking
On the same road, except it's winter now;
She's telling me that when you love the world you hear celestial music:
Look up, she says. When I look up, nothing.
Only clouds, snow, a white business in the trees
Like brides leaping to a great height-
Then I'm afraid for her; I see her
Caught in a net deliberately cast over the earth-
In reality, we sit by the side of the road, watching the sun set;
From time to time, the silence pierced by a birdcall.
It's this moment we're trying to explain, the fact
That we're at ease with death, with solitude.
My friend draws a circle in the dirt; inside, the caterpillar doesn't move.
She's always trying to make something whole, something beautiful, an image
Capable of life apart from her.
We're very quiet. It's peaceful sitting here, not speaking, The composition
Fixed, the road turning suddenly dark, the air
Going cool, here and there the rocks shining and glittering-
It's this stillness we both love.
The love of form is a love of endings.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Celestial Music by Louise Gluck )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
Alfred Lord Tennyson
(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Winter Solstice, Jacqueline C Nash
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- A Child's Christmas in Wales, Dylan Thomas
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Alone With Everybody, Charles Bukowski
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
Poem of the Day
- I Truly Love you, Michael P. McParland
- Hand on Stomach, Mae AC.
- I Still Read.........For Sandra Feldman, Michael P. McParland
- Slouches, Mae AC.
- My Keyboard Gentely Weeps, Michael P. McParland
- My Gift, Michael P. McParland
- Raises Eyebrows, Mae AC.
- My Friend Mee Too, Michael P. McParland
- My Dear Sweet Kira, Michael P. McParland
- My Angel, Michael P. McParland