The late Philip Booth of Castine had his own way with free verse, creating his music from the repetition of words and their placement on the page. Today’s poem, about the realities of old age, provides a striking example.

Old

By Phillip Booth

Old, the old know cause to be bitter:

                            they’ve seen

their children (as if they could tell)

insist they are growing deaf:

               they’ve found

old friends invent new friends

to prove the old don’t matter:

                        they have hardened

themselves to let memory rust out;

with only themselves to hold on to,

                             they have grown

beyond any surprise;

to get their way

                  they have aged again

to be children:

beyond control, they have gained

                                             control

of every last life save their own.

They know it can get no better.

 

Take Heart: A Conversation in Poetry is produced in collaboration with the Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance. Poem copyright © 1990 by Philip Booth. Reprinted from “Selves,” Penguin Publishing, 1990, by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Questions about submitting to Take Heart may be directed to David Turner, Special Assistant to the Maine Poet Laureate, at poetlaureate@mainewriters.org or 228-8263.

 

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