My father’s 97-year-old face brightens with recognition when I stop in to see him after dinner. He starts off with, “What’s going on?” since dementia wipes clean the short-term memory. But he relaxes when I plop down on the couch next to him. “How about a poem, Dad?” He taught English for decades and some poems are like old friends. Dad nods, pauses, and looks up at the ceiling with bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Ah!” he exclaims, “I have one!”
He recites the poem, “Come In,” by Robert Frost which creates a vivid impression of birdsong at dusk in the forest. As he finishes Dad imitates the call of the nightingale, or hermit thrush, an ethereal song he recalls from the woods in Maine.
Another poem follows, “Sonnet 19: When I consider how my light is spent,” by John Milton. Dad explains that John Milton was going blind:
“When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”
Dad explains the biblical reference to "talents," which includes the gifts one is given: skills or capacities. Referring to Mathew 25: 14–19, Milton says we must use our “gifts” and not hide them. Yet Milton is blind and can’t practice his gift as a writer; his talent is locked inside. If the skill that one is given can’t be used, how can he serve? Dad says that Milton provides the answer:
“God doth not need either man’s work or his own gifts; who best bear his mild yoke, they serve him best…. They also serve who only stand and wait.”
I am amazed that Dad can go from being unable to figure out where he is to explaining intricate references in a poem he learned by heart years ago. His voice resonates as if he is back in front of a classroom.
A few days later, while taking Dad for a drive in the country, we circle back to the Milton poem. I say that I appreciate the image that you are ok if you "only stand and wait." He points out that what Milton says is, "They also serve who only stand and wait." Then he says, “How cool that when you stand and wait, you also serve! I dig that!" as he slaps his leg with a thump.
I appreciate getting in rhythm with my father who smiles and says, "I'm really good at sitting here doing nothing." Yet inside him, a lot is going on. He continues to serve by reminding me of the value of being still and reflecting. He demonstrates how to delve into the wisdom that lies beneath the confusion of the moment.
Late summer and autumn are seasons to reap the harvest and let go of what is no longer needed. As I note the tumult and chaos in our modern world, I welcome the timeless moments hearing reflections on poems from the past. Wisdom resonates into eternity and gives me ground to stand on.
