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February 09, 2010


Bente M

This is a poem that stir many thoughts. Our modern lives contains hard, dispensable objects that we throw away and replace by more modern and up-to-date things, we leave no marks on them- whereas in my grandmother's life time, the objects were fewer, got more used and it shows when you look at them. A wooden spoon for instance, a beautiful story in itself, or an old table, with scratches and marks that remind us of the people who used it. Thank you for the poem!


Thank you for your comments, Bente. Yes, I remember reading an article a couple of years ago in which the author spoke of useful objects he had inherited from his grandparents, but lamented he had nothing that his own grandchildren would welcome. Which ancient Roman said, "There are tears deep down things?" - I wonder if he would say it now?

Still, though, I think the poet's complaint is that nothing in the world truly reflects the life of a loved one who has gone. I'm always surprised at how little sense of the person is left after the funeral. I like the poet's sadness, tinged with indignation, over that fact.

Thank you again. :-)

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