pity
pity the stars and cloudless sky the moon and hulking hunks of rock pity the white lined roads that lie beneath our feet pity the clock that ticks our moments into days the sun the grass the stream that grinds the pebbles into sand the haze that lines the valley and the pines that rise on mountaintops pity the waveweary weeds of the sea pity the wind that beats in vain against the cliff the drop of rain that splats upon the ground the snows that melt in spring and the rose
Words of My Father 
Jonathan (son #3) said,
25 June 2006 at 11:06 pm
This group of poems, beginning with awakening are aphoristic in feel. Some of them (pity, loss, summer's end) seem incomplete, almost fragments, though there is no indication that they were intended that way. They are pithy in a way that I feel reflects my father's true voice. Less experimental than much of what he writes in this period, more direct. Their impact is in their content, not in their form, which I think is the essence of good poetry, certainly the essence of his best work.
It's interesting to note that this set follows a quite long entry in this notebook (25 hand written pages) entitled shadow box, which will take me a little longer to finish typing up. This latter eludes classification. It is a stream of consciousness, monologue, not quite a poem, but not a theatrical work either. You'll see.
bloglily said,
26 June 2006 at 7:31 pm
A lovely poem. It’s sort of Shakespearian in tone — I did want more of an ending, but I’m happy enough with what’s there. Thank you Jonathan. And thanks, too, for your gloss on the poem.
Jonathan (son #3) said,
1 July 2006 at 5:04 pm
Pity [Version 2] found on p. 79 of the steno notebook “The Shadow Box”. I feel this version is much stronger. There are only a few changes to the verbage. The seemingly more standard line breaks are less distracting, allowing the reader to be drawn along by the words themselves, their feel in the mouth, as they drive us on. The pauses that occur at line ends (though often violating the natural pauses of the language) allow us time to ponder where we’ve been and where he is leading us. The sense of incompleteness is thus diminished, as we don’t really expect an ending, just the journey, which we, without him as guide, continue after the rose:
pity the stars and cloudless sky
the moon and hulking hunks of rock
pity the whitelined roads that lie
beneath our feet pity the clock
that ticks our pulses into days
the sun the grass the stream that grinds
the pebbles into sand the haze
that lines the valley and the pines
that rise on mountaintops pity
the waveweary weeds of the sea
pity the wind that beats its strain
against the cliff the drop of rain
that splats upon the ground the snows
that melt in spring and the rose
Jonathan (son #3) said,
14 September 2006 at 3:18 pm
Version three (likely reworked around 2002):
(pity)
pity the stars and cloudless sky
the moon and hulking hunks of rock
pity the whitelined roads that lie
beneath our feet pity the clock
that ticks our moments into days
the sun the grass the stream
that grinds the pebbles into sand
the haze that lines the valley and the pines
that rise on mountaintops pity
the waveweary weeds of the sea
pity the wind that flails all day
against the cliff the drop of rain
that splats upon the ground
the snows that melt in the spring
and the rose
Jonathan (son #3) said,
17 September 2006 at 8:41 am
See “I weep a tear” on My Father’s Son
Jonathan (son #3) said,
23 January 2007 at 4:12 pm
Version four.
Pity the stars and cloudless sky,
the moon and hulking hunks of rock.
Pity the whitelined roads that lie
beneath our fee. Pity the clock
that ticks our moments into days,
the sun, the grass, the stream
that grinds the pebbles into sand,
the haze that lines the valley and the pines
that rise on mountaintops. Pity
the waveweary weeds of the sea.
Pity the wind that flairls all day
against the cliff, the drops of rain
that splat upon the ground,
the snows that melt in the spring
and the rose.