Perfection Wasted
And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market--
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat, their response and your performance twinned. The jokes over the phone. The memories packed in the rapid-access file. The whole act. Who will do it again? That's it: no one;imitators and descendants aren't the same.
And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market--
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat, their response and your performance twinned. The jokes over the phone. The memories packed in the rapid-access file. The whole act. Who will do it again? That's it: no one;imitators and descendants aren't the same.
John Updike
A prophecy perhaps....as Updike would soon be diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. The great writer of 50+ books with such skill to win every notable prize but the Nobel---silenced by death, the cruel reaper of all humanity, perfection wasted--except for those live for the Life others bestow on us.
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