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Hi John, What astounds me about this poem is that it puts into psychic phrasing the complicated act of aging. But I also think the revision plunges it into obscureness. You had already done a good job of telling the scenario slantly but I miss the anchor of the opening four lines of the original that tethered me. They served as a harness to the more dream-like rest of the poem that so surreally defines the body’s failing.
What makes this poem transcendent for me is the lightness of being that is sustained in spite of the heaviness of living, of aging, and the smile in the face of it all. It is a humble transcendence that laughs lightly at our slow demise. Our bodies never stood a chance at outlasting our non-material self… There now: look what I’ve done! I’ve taken a perfectly pleasant poem and turned it into gloomy thoughts. Good thing there’s coffee to keep me company — ha!
Someday in the future, if all goes well, we will have the capability of becoming bionic, limb by limb, organ by organ. Like starfish. But it won’t be the fountain of youth. We will still yearn for something beyond our reach. My two cents.
I’ve had my walks curtailed by hip pain and recent surgeries to replace both hips and a torn rotator cuff. My back aches. Marilyn, too, has had her turn. Now we ache in other places —ha!
The title escapes me or underwhelms me.
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