Deep Defile Poem by Linda Hepner

In the deep defile of life
death is the only light
we see beyond the jagged heights
and twist and turns of trails

we follow, having no recourse
to leave the way we came,
or flee above the canyon frame
or shelter from the gales

that buffet us, and blind our way
while in our narrow sight;
exhausted we abandon flight
and let the light prevail.

It comes upon us like the sun
sand-red upon the stone
in Petra when we run, emerge
from the defile, and sail

into the dazzling death of life,
a mausoleum dream,
museum trap, a tourist theme
the sun sets on our tale.

LRH
2.15.09


Inspired by GWH's poem Dark Defile of Age
DARK DEFILE OF AGE

Defiled by darkness and by age,
remembering the light of distant youth,
he, in the twilight, will not rage
that he has failed to find the source of truth,
and, though he stumbles, won’t complain
he finds no exit from the dark defile,
of age, refusing with disdain
the proffered succor of a sunny smile,
while rejecting beams of light
that optimists incurably maintain
will surely shine to make things right,
till numbed by darkness as by Novocain.

Frank Kermode writes about Edmund Wilson in the New York Times on November 23,1997. He quotes Wilson's courage as he entered 'the dark defile of age'.

© 1997 Gershon 11/24/97,2/15/09