the deepening ground

The end approaches. We’ve moved past counting the days; now we’re counting the hours. Another school year, my twenty-fifth to be exact, comes to a close. In the heat of wrapping up the year and managing life outside of the classroom, my wife (at my son, Theo’s leading) sent me the following poem. Balancing the responsibilities of home and work and still giving myself time to be creative has been an ongoing struggle (as you know if you’ve read many of my posts). My creative energies have been focused on parodies for my English classes (I will be posting these on a new page called “Lit Rock” this summer, including “It’s the End of AP as We Know It”). So this poetic recommendation from my wife and son refreshed my busy soul.

In all my years of teaching, I’ve never read this poem. For me, A Psalm of Life, Christmas Bells, The Cross of Snow, and The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls have been my Longfellow favorites for years. But now that I am older, I feel the weight of such lines as “For my heart was hot and restless, / And my life was full of care, / And the burden laid upon me / Seemed greater than I could bear.” Longfellow must have been a teacher, husband, and father of six! Summer offers a reprieve on one front, but life offers no true reprieve. What truly matters, then, is a change of perspective.

“Every day can be the best day, every moment the best moment. You just have to be able to see it.” ~ The Unbreakable Boy (2025)

I now see that I’ve lived life blind. Reading this poem and watching the film The Unbreakable Boy this past weekend have begun the process of healing. In fact, I would say they’ve offered complete healing; I just have to be willing to believe it, to open my eyes, and live.

So what do you see when you look out from the bridge: a sea of cares or an invitation into the broken beauty of life?

THE BRIDGE
by henry wadsworth longfellow

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
   As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
   Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
   In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
   And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
   Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
   Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
   The wavering shadows lay,
And the current that came from the ocean
   Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
   Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
   The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
   Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o’er me
   That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, O, how often,
   In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
   And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, O, how often,
   I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom
   O’er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,
   And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
   Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
   It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
   Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river
   On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
   Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands
   Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
   Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession
   Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,
   And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever,
   As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
   As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
   And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
   And its wavering image here.