Front Door Light Moth Series, Part IX

So tonight, somewhat serendipitiously, I came across an image of a moth that I had forgotten to include in these pages - a nice one I think - and then even more serendipitiously, I came across a site (as one often does on the www), The Wondering Minstrels (which doesn't seem to be maintained any longer), and a poem...about a moth.  An appropriate poem - for a moth and such a night.  Thinking, while sitting out in the much cooler air, thinking about lives (of any kind) well-lived - short ones, long ones - pondering the last remaining hours of a (yes, still breathing) sweet beagle and a brief visit to an 87 year old friend who has the petals of camellias and sails of old boats rushing even still through his veins.  Yes, tonight it's not surprising to think of a moth, and to come across a poem (one that I'm guessing is not new to many but is to me) which came with the following preamble:

The narrator is a poet [archy] reincarnated in a cockroach's body.
He types by jumping on the keys of a typewriter, hence the lack of caps.
Knowing that helps :)

the lesson of the moth by Don Marquis

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

archy

Comments

[The County Clerk]

i agree with the moth, but there is no sense in being foolish. Is there?

To prarpahrase Edgar Poe, we can link "fancy unto fancy" to reach ANY conclusion, no?

"Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'"

Best to fly around the fires for the most part. We should endeavor to be discerning in our "immolations."

No?

(I truly enjoyed that poem. I think I'll try to put into my vernacular. Thank you.)

[layanee]

Pam: Such a soft looking moth and a great poem to boot! I've played it pretty safe in my younger years and am working up to chasing the fire in my middle to later years. Balance is the key to self preservation, I think. As for your sweet beagle, you are both in my thoughts.

[Pam]

CC: It was a funny poem to come across (by accident) - I think that I remember being told a story once about Don Marquis - about his journalistic stuff. I vaguely recall that.

But as to the moth? And it's immolations? I just don't know. I think about the moth's perspective: on the average, I've got a week, maybe a little more (now it is unlikely that the moth recognizes this - but I can't imagine how exhausting a life it must be - constantly, or almost constantly, fluttering - but then there are birds that live...oh, those damned footnotes are contagious!). Anyway, I'd rather think of the moth as being 'come easy, go easy' rather than...not so bright.

And in 30 seconds, I'd probably respond completely differently than what I wrote above. One of those mornings when my head needs to be emptied out, and I need to start all over again.

Layanee: Thank you.

Yes, balance is important - something (or someone) to reign you in from time-to-time (or to at least keep a hose ready in case you get too close to the flame - we all need a good soaking every now and then).

[Annie in Austin]

The poem awakened some memory, Pam as I tried to remember a story by Annie Dillard. I have a couple of her books, but couldn't find it. A web search helped me remember that her story of the moth and flame was in Holy the Firm. Since it's by the frequently terrifying Ms Dillard the effect on the reader is unlike the Don Marquis poem, but they still seem connected somehow.

May the last hours be sweet for your dear furred friend.

Annie at the Transplantable Rose

[mss @ Zanthan Gardens]

Very thought-provoking poem. Thanks for sharing it. I haven't read any of that curious cockroach's poems since junior high. Looks like it's time to peruse them with older eyes.

[Dawn]

What a cute, fuzzy moth. I like him. The poem made me smile. Serendipity rules! :-)

[Pam]

Annie, it wasn't until you mentioned the Annie Dillard that I also remembered it, how funny - yes! And yes, different - but not.

Thanks for the kind beagle words. Kind beagle words are always welcomed around here.

MSS: It wasn't something I read (or at least that I remember I read) but a friend also told me the same thing - that she remembers being exposed to Don Marquis in school. He was oddly familiar to me, but I have no idea why.

Dawn: Thank you, I liked the cute fuzzy moth (and all of life's serendipitiousness...) too. Welcome.

[mss @ Zanthan Gardens]

I looked up Don Marquis on Wikipedia and it turns out that (for a short time) he attended The Knox Academy. which was in those days the prep program for Knox College. Knox College is a little college in Galesburg, IL where my Dad grew up and where my mother decided to go to school, all the way from a tiny town in rural New Mexico. She often had to explain to people in Illinois that New Mexico was a state. They were there half a century after Don Marquis.

Intricate interconnectedness.

[Pam]

What a great story! Thanks for coming back and sharing it.