Posts Tagged ‘Epithalamion’

25 years ago…

April 4, 2017

25 years ago, the atmospheric concentration of carbon dioxide was 350 ppm  – just 70 ppm higher than its pre-industrial concentration.

Oh yes. And I got married.

Objectively, I can describe this elapsed time as 9131 days. Or almost 789 million seconds.

And I can describe the way in which the atmospheric concentration of carbon dioxide has changed since then by more than 50 ppm.

And I can even describe the wonder of seeing two new human beings come into the world and evolve from being babies to being adults.

But subjectively, words fail me.

Version 2

But it is a fact that on this date, 25 years ago, friends and relatives gathered and supported Stephanie and myself as we got married.

And this post is just to say ‘Thank you’ to everyone who was there that day, and whose good wishes felt like a very tangible blessing. Our aim this year is to try to visit each of you. We have a list and you have been warned!

But whether you were there or not, I leave with you the Epithalamion written by my brother Sean and read by him at the wedding.

Epithalamion for Michael and Stephanie

Young people dance and drink a lot,
Draw close in metaphysical discussion,
Make light of commitments in making love
Celebrate the sadness of casual encounters,
Make art from them, and then repeat them.
Moments exhilarate; memory excruciates; the future’s a dream.
Years pass; what was painfully beautiful becomes untenable.
There comes time to move from testing the limits of resilience
To exploring the possibilities of permanence

Flitting is fine for adolescents and Peter Pan,
But now this woman is a woman, and this man a man.

Michael played guitar and sang a lot.
Went with women, but not a lot;
Sought the wrong thing in the wrong places,
And thus made the necessary errors;
Skirted sanity’s edge and touched insanity’s terrors.
I knew him as an orphaned six-year old; I have known
the need, and comfort of, his hand.
I have sought the warmth of his palm; welcomed his embrace;
Suffered the full force of his anger
— And see! Here I am unharmed.
And here is the baby I held in my arms
Become an adult who,
In looking for his mother, found a lover;
And in loving a lover, found a wife;
And, after a long search,
The needed even tenor of a stable life.

In seeking after women, he was never a Don Juan;
But now the child whose hand I held is become a man.

I don’t know Stephanie’s past;
However I strongly suspect
That happy women don’t jump from Aeroplanes;
And I know for a fact
That Ireland is the best
But least happy nation to stem from;
And that an uncertain constitution of your blood
Doesn’t do your humour any good.
This is not to carp, but just to establish
A youth that was below emotional perfection,
So that future adventures – this moment –
Might allow scope for improvement.
How sad, if all her relations, now full-stomached and dyspeptic,
Were also silently lamenting her deteriorating spirit,
Her vanished prospects,
The poor calibre of chap who’s landed in it!
To them I would say:
“The Chosen Path is the best!
And this is it!”

Today Stephanie puts on her Bridal Gown
To follow a dream that is her own.
Today good faith and trust may light hope’s flame;
She thus assumes perfection and a woman’s name.

Today is the ceremonial,
The tip of the huge and hidden thing to come;
The speckle and glass-glint of sun on the sea’s surface,
Eye-pleasing and transient, above depths that would terrify.
Today is about sex and the containment of sex;
About fear and the overcoming of fear;
About flesh and the fact flesh is fertile;
And the fact flesh decays;
And the fact flesh is human and lovely.
Today, too, is about family,
About what your Mother and Father do to you,
And for you;
It is about fertility and the bearing of children,
About the repetition of familiar things — and old errors;
The discovery of particular new joys,
New ways of two people meeting,
The miracle, perhaps, of new human beings.
Today is about what — what no ceremony could proclaim —
Informing the mundane with a proper focus,
With the laser intensity of life, and making it last;
About enlivening the drudge of living,
The dulling-ness of day to day.

It is about making do, and doing the best you can.
It is about Stephanie being a woman, and Michael a man.

If that’s all, then what’s the point?
Why are we here?
Why not reach for our revolver
And place it in our ear?
Because… because there’s more.
Today is about this…
We need each other;
We are nothing if connected to nothing.
Today we celebrate connectedness;
Cutting the crap we acknowledge love,
And the power of love to sustain.
And love is a light thing —
Not just the fleshly decaying ponderousness of sex,
But the shock of seeing, and then seeing afresh.
Today we dignify love,
Erecting a social carapace to protect it,
To allow it, in the private vision of two lovers.
We try to fix a hope — that love is not a flimsy.
Can such a light thing — love — though ever be strong enough?
All brides and all their grooms are optimists or fools.
But. Imagine egg-shell-skating carefulness; Consider how caution kills.
Let’s learn, and be thankful for the lessons of these optimistic fools;
Aristocrats of human risk, they let love open the future.
To feed hope’s flames, their noble folly’s fuel.

Come, then let us thank them; let us now applaud;
Today, this woman is a lady; and this man a lord.

Sean de Podesta , 1992


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