Friday, August 19, 2011

It takes a heap o'living'

As we prepare to move from our home of ten years and from the city that has been home for 23, many of the sentiments conveyed in this poem mirror my own. Thank you, Mr. Guest. And thank you, Tayta, for bringing this poem to my attention . You are so good at making those poetic connections which bring beauty into our home.

~Edgar A. Guest

It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home,
A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam
Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind,
An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind.
It don't make any differunce how rich ye get t' be,
How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything.

Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it;
Within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and then
Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men;
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part
With anything they ever used -- they've grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb marks on the door.

Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh
An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that Death is nigh;
An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come,
An' close the eyes o' her that smiled,
an' leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart,
an' when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified;
An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories
O' her that was an' is no more -- ye can't escape from these.

Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got t' romp an' play,
An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day;
Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear
Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes' t' run
The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun;
Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome:
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home.

I wish I had the time to insert meaningful images which play through my mind as I read this poem. Someday. As important as it is to remember, right now I must use what emotional and physical energy I have to close up this home well and let my heart fill with anticipation for the next place we will make home.


Woman of the House said...

God's blessings on your move! Having just moved myself, I don't envy you one bit! But it will be worth it in the end. :-)

Jodi said...

I second the comment above. God bless your move, and here's to more wonderful memories in a happy home. By the way, I made the chick pea tomato salad. It was fab. Also, if you do make a button wall hanging, I'd love to see it.

Laura A said...

Poignant words as we are delayed in our departure and I watch someone else settling into our home from across the way. (We're staying in a neighbors' apartment.) It must be very hard to leave a town where you've lived for 23 years!

I thought the photos in the box as moving as the poem. And the Arabic graphics on the box add a nice touch!

Have fun making your *new* place into a home!