Since my blog is titled “what are years?” I might as well start off by thinking about how I define the years of my life.
2006: Europe for the second time; Herstmonceux castle in England; an e-mail breakup and subsequent real heartbreak.
2007: relationship; introduction to literary theory and Judith Butler; friends coming out.
2008: winning SSHRC funding; grad school; Paris trip; Montreal bagels; two cats.
2009: switching fields; organizing “Gender(ed) Politics” conference; regaining my voice and confidence; living with a real balcony.
And here are the words from the original poem.
What are Years?
What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt, -
dumbly calling, deafly listening-that
in misfortune, even death,
and in it’s defeat, stirs
the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
accededs to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
finds its continuing.
So he who strongly feels,
behaves. The very bird,
grown taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.