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My friend says I was not a good son
you understand
I say yes I understand
he says I did not go
to see my parents very often you know
and I say yes I know
even when I was living in the same city he says
maybe I would go there once
a month or maybe even less
I say oh yes
he says the last time I went to see my father
I say the last time I saw my father
he says the last time I saw my father
he was asking me about my life
how I was making out and he
went into the next room
to get something to give me
oh I say
feeling again the cold
of my father's hand the last time
he says and my father turned
in the doorway and saw me
look at my wristwatch and he
said you know I would like you to stay
and talk with me
oh yes I say
but if you are busy he said
I don't want you to feel that you
have to
just because I'm here
I say nothing
he says my father
said maybe
you have important work you are doing
or maybe you should be seeing
somebody I don't want to keep you
I look out the window
my friend is older than I am
he says and I told my father it was so
and I got up and left him then
you know
though there was nowhere I had to go
and nothing I had to do.
Looking back later in life, many of us realize that we didn't fully
appreciate our parents. Although the ascription to Mark Twain is
doubtful, he is widely reported to have said:
When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I
could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I
got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had
learned in seven years.
W.S. Merwin's "Yesterday" expresses and explores the guilt some
feel at having too often failed to honor their parents. His poem is
a conversation between friends, one outspoken, the other a
listener who reports everything his friend says.
The poet's friend begins honestly by divulging that he "was not a
good son" and goes on to explain that he did not go to see his
parents very often, even when he was living close by.
The father's genuine interest in and concern for his son are
evident. He asks
After noticing that his son is looking at his wristwatch, he is not
offended. His concern is solely for his son: He says,
but if you are busy he said
I don't want you to feel that you
have to
just because I'm here
he says my father
said maybe
you have important work you are doing
or maybe you should be seeing
somebody I don't want to keep you
"Only connect," E.M. Forster wrote in Howard's End, urging us to
work to cross the divide that separates us from other human
beings. The son's visit to his father is perfunctory. He makes no
effort to engage his father in conversation. Like a fish out of
water, he is wholly disconnected from his father's presence. He
lies to his father about having important things to do. But he does
not excuse himself and ends his narrative with a devastating
admission:
he says and I told my father it was so
and I got up and left him then
you know
though there was nowhere I had to go
and nothing I had to do.
It's a powerful story and a lesser poet might have presented it
uninterrupted after an introductory line or two. Merwin's listener,
however, is profoundly affected by the narrative. His short
responses suggest that he is remembering how he behaved on
visits with his father and that, in retrospect, like his friend, he
wishes he had been a better son.
I say yes I understand
and I say yes I know
oh yes I say
I say nothing
It's not clear if our listener is speaking out loud or just thinking
his responses. Either way he is letting us know that I understand,
I know, I am struck silent because I also am guilty of failing to
make the effort to connect with my parents. His understated
responses add a quiet, but powerful emotional layer to the poem,
intensifying his friend's narrative. As his friend outlines his failure
to connect, our poet / listener is feeling his own regret for similar
failures.
In case we have any doubt as to our listener's feelings he adds
three lines that bring his own father into the poem. His friend has
just spoken about the last time I went to see my father
,
causing memory to well up in our listener:
The chill of that cold hand upon his skin as he recalls the last time
he saw his father, reminds us that our listener's memory is being
jogged blow by blow by his friend's account.
Realistically we have someone talking to an intimate friend he can
trust, saying things he probably wouldn't say to anyone else. Still,
lurking behind this conversation is the dynamic of confession,
formally called the Sacrament of Penance or Reconciliation by the
Catholic Church.
We don't know what led up to the announcement that the poet's
friend was not a good son; but he clearly feels compelled to reveal
something that over time he has come to regret and view, if not as
a "sin," as a failure to make the effort to connect. One feels that if
he could go back, he would treat his father differently. As he
unburdens himself to his friend, we feel that something akin to a
confession is taking place. His friend is not a priest and cannot
offer absolution. As for penance, simply understanding the gravity
of his failure to connect provides something emotionally akin to
that dispensation.
Another brilliant touch is the inclusion of Merwin's friend looking
at his wristwatch to show his discomfort at being in his father's
company and his desire to be wholly with himself once again. The
poem is entitled Yesterday, and it is about the irreconcilability of
Time. We are all doomed to live with our past.
The speaker implicitly admits that he did not enjoy his father's
company. The listener is also implicitly guilty of disconnecting
from his father. But there is a dark suggestion in this poem's
penultimate stanza that E.M. Forster's directive to "only connect"
with other human beings is not achievable:
I look out the window
my friend is older than I am
he says and I told my father it was so
and I got up and left him then
you know
Although John Donne insists that "no man is an island" and
Stephen Sondheim agrees in his song "No One Is Alone," it's a
Rouchefoucauldian fact that to fully connect with another human
being requires the ability to enter another's consciousness, and
like time travel that's impossible.
Perhaps that's why Merwin "looks out the window" as his friend's
father says I don't want to keep you
and why he observes that
my friend is older than I am
. Yesterday, after all, is a visit within a visit. An older friend visiting a younger one flips the
father / son dynamic. Our listener's candid friend becomes
something of a father figure for Merwin and his readers.
Often in relationships, one party does most of the talking and
that's true here. No matter how much we love visits from our
dearest friends we do have our own lives to live. Looking out the
window, away from his visitor, and letting us know that his friend
is "older than I am" may hint that our listener is growing a bit
tired of this visit and is beginning to long for the comforts of being
alone. This adds yet another layer to Merwin's poem.
I began with Twain's observation that he was surprised at how
much his father had learned in the seven years between his being
14 and 21. The learning of course is all on the son's side. The older
one gets, the more one appreciates one's parents. Another reason
why Merwin makes his friend older. Our listener may be
contemplating his own failure to connect for the first time.
I'll close with a poem of my own that explores the tension
between the desire for companionship and the desire to be alone.
LONELINESS RISING
The pre-partum blues subdue us
as we loll around the table…
cups drained… plates empty…
conversation stalled.
There's plenty of coffee in the pot.
How about another piece of strudel?
Too bad Bobbie couldn't be here.
The hush we end up in is holy.
No one wants to profane it:
Each is reluctant to utter words
that will nudge us into the night.
Until (with a skree--eek that startles)
a chair is pushed back from the table.
Loneliness rising. Time to head home
to our selves once again.
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