Linda Pastan Dead at 90
 

Pastan wrote hundreds of poems, but few are as flawless as this.

Bronze Bells of Autumn

Although I’ve made a kind of peace
with those I loved who are already dead,
bronze bells of autumn, in their minor key,
toll for the losses still ahead.

The weather tells a narrative of change;
the wind prepares a path the geese will take.
This frost is beautiful, and yet it kills.
The harvest moon drowns in the lake.

I love the dark (it moves so gradually)
but love still more all it will erase:
these swarming leaves, this pungent smoky air,
the youth you were, your aging face.

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That is a remarkably sombre, beautiful poem.
I hadn't heard of Linda Pastan until now. Thanks for the obit, Matt. Her "last window" is my "first window" into her poetry.


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If you have not read Linda Pastan, do yourself a favor and read her, whether you write in free verse or in form. She mainly used the former, but she was superb at it, one of my favorite free verse poets, ever since a colleague tipped me off that I needed to read her work many years ago. Her work is stunningly beautiful, and her metaphors stay with you.

Susan