Does anyone know of a funeral poem appropriate for an avid outdoorsman, hunter, fisherman?
Thanks, Katrina
Robert Louis Stephenson's headstone reads:
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he long'd to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Jack
Katrina, you might find a few stanzas of the following verse appropriate:
The Ballad Of The Foxhunter
by William Butler Yeats
'Lay me in a cushioned chair;
Carry me, ye four,
With cushions here and cushions there,
To see the world once more.
'To stable and to kennel go;
Bring what is there to bring;
Lead my Lollard to and fro,
Or gently in a ring.
'Put the chair upon the grass:
Bring Rody and his hounds,
That I may contented pass
From these earthly bounds.'
His eyelids droop, his head falls low,
His old eyes cloud with dreams;
The sun upon all things that grow
Falls in sleepy streams.
Brown Lollard treads upon the lawn,
And to the armchair goes,
And now the old man's dreams are gone,
He smooths the long brown nose.
And now moves many a pleasant tongue
Upon his wasted hands,
For leading aged hounds and young
The huntsman near him stands.
'Huntsmam Rody, blow the horn,
Make the hills reply.'
The huntsman loosens on the morn
A gay wandering cry.
Fire is in the old man's eyes,
His fingers move and sway,
And when the wandering music dies
They hear him feebly say,
'Huntsman Rody, blow the horn,
Make the hills reply.'
'I cannot blow upon my horn,
I can but weep and sigh.'
Servants round his cushioned place
Are with new sorrow wrung;
Hounds are gazing on his face,
Aged hounds and young.
One blind hound only lies apart
On the sun-smitten grass;
He holds deep commune with his heart:
The moments pass and pass:
The blind hound with a mournful din
Lifts slow his wintry head;
The servants bear the body in;
The hounds wail for the dead.
Les
This one is not a poem, but a segment of the movie "A River Runs Through It"
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On the Big Blackfoot River above the mouth of Belmont Creek the banks are fringed by large Ponderosa pines. In the slanting sun of late afternoon the shadows of great branches reached from across the river, and the trees took the river in their arms. The shadows continued up the bank, until they included us.
"... but you can love completely without complete understanding."
Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.
Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.
Les
Post Edited (12-06-04 06:15)
A pity to leave out the first stanza of R.L.Stevenson's 2-stanza 'Requiem', though I don't know whether it's included on his headstone in Samoa:
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
Here's another one by Stevenson that might be suitable:
'The Vagabond'
Give to me the life I love,
Let the lave go by me,
Give the jolly heaven above
And the byway nigh me.
Bed in bush with stars to see,
Bread I dip in the river––
There’s the life for a man like me,
There’s the life for ever.
Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o’er me;
Give the face of earth around
And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I seek, the heaven above
And the road below me.
Or let Autumn fall on me
Where afield I linger,
Silencing the bird on tree,
Biting the blue finger.
White as meal the frosty field––
Warm the fireside haven––
Not to autumn will I yield,
Not to winter even!
Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o’er me;
Give the face of earth around
And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I ask, the heaven above
And the road below me.
"Spirit of well-shot woodcock, grouse and snipe
Bear him up..."
The beginning of Betjeman's epitaph on George V.
Hello everyone. I have been asked to speak at my uncle's funeral on Monday (two days away). I am looking for a simple poem, one that everyone will understand about my uncle. He loved to fish, play a game of cards, and spend time with his big family.
Anyone have any ideas? Please let me know. All ideas appreicated.
Eva
Hello everyone. I have been asked to speak at my uncle's funeral on Monday (two days away). I am looking for a simple poem, one that everyone will understand about my uncle. He loved to fish, play a game of cards, and spend time with his big family.
Anyone have any ideas? Please let me know. All ideas appreicated.
Eva
Please explain what it means when they say (in plain english), as someone send this to me and I have not seen the movie a river runs through it:
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was out by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
Thanks,
Elaine
Correcting typo:
"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters."
It could mean many things to different people. Nothing wrong with that. To me, it is a celebration of the way things work on this huge ball of life. The various continental plates move about, creating islands and mountains, glaciers come and go as ice age temperatures fall only to become warm again, rivers are cut and shaped by the vitality of it all. Timeless raindrops are like fossils, leaving their imprints behind for future generations to see. Water comes down as rain, runs off to the oceans, cutting great channels in the soil, and is again recycled by the sun back from the oceans to the clouds to rain again.
The speaker is enamoured of the process itself.
See also the Gaia Hypothesis, where the earth is seen as a living being.