93 year old local poet Lewis Watling has submitted two poems, one in celebration of his 93rd birthday and one a wish for us all for 2013. He read Can You Believe I’m Ninety-three at the Literary Tea at Fish Hoek Library at the end of November .
I have been largely impeded from most public events by a period of sustained immobility. An inability to walk for more then ten minutes at a time virtually imprisoned me for the past six weeks, and at one stage I really thought my creativity was at an end and I was on the way out. However, a new surge of energy has overtaken me, and I am able to forward to you the poem that I read, ‘Can You Believe I’m Ninety-three’ and also ‘A Season of Clear Shining’, I am, in fact, virtually back to an old persona with bits added on.”
I am relieved to hear he is back to his old persona and am intrigued by the “bits added on”!
Can You Believe I’m Ninety-three
Can you believe I’m Ninety-three,
yes, three score years and thirty-three!.
still laughing aloud at being me.
The medics say, “We have heard your song
and think you ought to come along
so we can determine what went wrong…”
They can’t believe I’m ninety-three!
Can you believe i’m ninety-three,
yes, three score years and thirty-three,
and still receiving reminders free
of all this planet means to me…
half-forgotten tears of joy;
glimpses of wonder, man and boy.
Let no-one threaten to destroy
the knowledge that I’m ninety-three.
Can I believe I’m ninety-three
although assured longevity
rests lightly on my will to be;
although I’ve felt the mystery
of loss and death and curtailed power
joy still cradles this late hour.
Am I the seed and, somehow, the Sower?
Can I believe I’m ninety-three,
Yes, three score years and thirty-three?
However dark or threatening the storm, there always comes, if we are patient …
A Season of Clear Shining
When the tumult tumbles round us
and the conflicts all confound us,
as the warriors of our differences all swarm,
may the weeping, wailing, whining
herald a Season of Clear Shining,
a time of realigning
pure spirit after storm.
When all around’s dissension
and threatens ill intention;
when anarchy appears to be the norm;
may all disparate factions
stumble on life’s true attractions –
pure spirit’s counteractions
of Clear Shining after storm.
There’s no finer contentment
than the balm that our whole life meant,
the truth that, all wholesome, wise and warm,
is a paradigm defining
an end to grief and pining
in a Season of Clear Shining
for our spirit after storm.