My Response to “The Rose”

So dare I hope so late as now Toward the end of my life That, beneath all of the ice and snow Atop my frozen grave When the sun’s love clears the cold stone There will yet lie the seed That in the spring becomes the rose?.

This poem responds to this old (1977) pop song by Amanda McBroom, in a beautiful, almost hymn-like rendition by the King’s Singers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9hXeBXAs9Y

The second verse is my reality. It is more than a metaphor.

My poetry is poor but states my response to the song.

I never learned to dance!
I had a heart afraid of [everything]
Ridicule, being called stupid, a “retard”
Clumsiness, being called a foot-breaker
Cluelessness, being called a heart-breaker
Facing the wrath of a God who hated fun
At least if I had it
Whether ‘twas God or others accusing
Made no difference
And, oh, yes, it takes two to tango
And my heart was afraid of breaking
So I never learned to dance!

I had beautiful, Technicolor dreams
But they were also afraid of [everything]
What if I was wrong, and called a “failure”—
I faced this anyway and could not avoid it
Even when I gave up my own dreams
To follow and serve those of others.
At least then I was not guilty of a “wrong” dream
A dream that must be “wrong” because it was my own!
And I also had vivid, Technicolor nightmares
That came closer to reality than my dreams
And that I could never pawn off—they were always my own!
Better to dream on, than to awaken and face them!

But was I so afraid of being taken
That I never learned to give?
No, I gave and gave and gave!
I was afraid of being taken
But I was more afraid of being called uncaring
Unchristian, stingy, the cause of others’ woes
That I gave even when I shouldn’t have
Gave for all the wrong reasons
Gave up some of those closest to me
Who now no longer own me
Gave up opportunities that would never come again
And never really learned to give! 

So my soul too was afraid of [everything]
But most of all of dying while I yet lived
Of loss of the things that were my life
Of the death of the love of those I loved
Of the very things that, in my fear of death, died
Of the knowledge that of this death I was the cause.
It was not the hatred of the God who hated fun
The God of my Puritan, pilgrim past
That kept me from learning to dance
From learning to live
But my fear of life's loss kept me from learning to live.

So dare I hope so late as now
Toward the end of my life
That, beneath all of the ice and snow
Atop my frozen grave
When the sun’s love clears the cold stone
There will yet lie the seed
That in the spring becomes the rose?.

Ian Johnson 8/1/2024

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“I Want to Be Forgotten!”

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