An Ongoing Conversation on Poetry

An Ongoing Conversation on Poetry
Oxford Union Library, Oxford University

Friday, January 1, 2010

The New Year


At the end of every day, when I look at the setting sun, I feel as if I am standing at the edge of that day's fleeting life, while looking with wonder at the possibilities of the beginning of the next day, the empty page of the next life. New Years Eve seems like that to me too. As it approaches midnight, and calendars prepare to change month and year, I am again reminded of what had come before in the old year, and the possibilities of the new one that will appear before me in the seconds to come. It is a difficult feeling to describe because sadness of what has passed intermingles with hope of new opportunities, new chances to improve life. Matthew Arnold, in his poem, "Dover Beach", describes it this way:

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
I have always been intrigued with this "melancholy, long, withdrawing roar" that both New Years Eve and the end of each day brings into me. The Scots refer to it as the "gloaming." You know, that brief moment in time when the sun has set, but there is cool light left in the sky. It has always seemed to me that light seems to be waving the last farewell of the day before night replaces it. And so, I too wrote a poem about this time of day, one that could easily apply to New Years Eve as well. I post it here in the hope that it speaks more eloquently of this life experience than I could. I wish all who read this a very Happy New Year, with the hope that what is to come will be better than what has come before.
In the Gloaming
Christopher Bogart

In the gloaming,
Black cut-out silhouettes of trees
Stand stark
Against the fading cerulean sky.

In the gloaming,
Fireflies rise in the cool night air
To hover there,
Winking at the gathering darkness.

In the gloaming,
We stand with our feet against the final line,
Our eyes seek out the flight of dying light
To reach the fleeting edge of our eternity.


Published on Poetsonline.com

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