[Gail White]

Words of my own fail me at this point, Tim, so please accept a few lines by my favorite, George Herbert, from his poem "A Flower".

And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write.
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing. O my only light,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fell all night.

[E. Shaun Russell]

Herbert is particularly apt, Gail. I was thinking about Izaak Walton's account of Herbert's passing, of which he summarizes:

"Thus he lived, and thus he died, like a saint, unspotted of the world, full of alms-deeds, full of humility, and all the examples of a virtuous life; which I cannot conclude better, than with this borrowed observation:

--All must to their cold graves:
But the religious actions of the just
Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust."

[Ned Balbo]

Tim, your work has brought such beauty into the world, and recreated grief as beauty, too. Thank you for the poems you gave us & all those you continue to give.

I love this beautiful ekphrastic piece--a finely chiseled gem from your extraordinary body of work.

http://www.poemtree.com/poems/MuromachiCranes.htm [Stanza shapes are preserved at the link.]


The Muromachi Cranes

With outstretched wings the dancers pirouette.
Arching graceful necks
they open great green beaks
and join their voices in a wild duet.

Preening and strutting on a silken stage
the cranes are not dismayed
that painted feathers fade.
Immortals grow more ravishing with age.

Contentedly they wade the swirling ink
of their appointed pool
where spawning minnows school
and poets are prohibited to drink.

As the sun sets on snow peaks in the West
snow cranes contemplate
the chirps which emanate
from the lone egg sequestered in their nest.

Over that egg a four-toed foot is curled
as though a Taoist sage
in a thatched hermitage
slowly revolves the ovum of the world.

~Timothy Murphy
_____________

Author's note: The Muromachi Cranes is a scroll
painted in the Muromachi period of Japanese art,
circa 1570-1610.

[Catherine Chandler]

From Robert Crawford and Midge Goldberg on Facebook:


Reading Tim Murphy in Frost's kitchen today.


"We both thirst for a waterhole, where calm
grants to the heart the solace of a psalm."


Godspeed, Tim. I read your Hunter's Log out loud to the empty barn this morning. Godspeed.

[Julie Kane]

"Home is the sailor, home from the sea, / And the hunter home from the hill." Safe home, dear Tim!

[Susan McLean]

Perfect quote, Julie.

Susan

[Nigel Mace]

At last, Julie - le mot juste.

[Catherine Chandler]

Father Rob,

Rose Kelleher sends her best wishes.

[R. S. Gwynn]

Thanks you, Robert. Tim returned to the church de profundis, and it gave him the peace he had been seeking many years.

He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

[Robert Pecotte]

To all who have posted or pm'd me, thank you. Reminder, I am heading to Fargo to see Tim tomorrow morning.

His brother told me today that Tim is sinking fast. In and out of lucidity. Please, those who pray please do so.

Pax Vobiscum,

Fr. Rob