And scull across his roof and make for shore,
With twisted face and pocket full of seeds.
— from “Epitaph for the Race of Man” by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am 79, in need of repair, much like the rest of the country, and it seems to me that in the last twenty years the arc of history has definitely turned downward.
The horrors have been quite abundant: Starting with the greatest tragedy, 9/11 (see W. Szymborska’s poem, “Photograph from September 11“), the years, a decade later produced Hurricane Sandy, a terrible storm and flood that stopped two blocks from my house. Then, luckily, I escaped the ravages of Covid, only to lose my best friend, Tony, an EMT who worked tirelessly for the city during the scourge. And we are not even beginning to discuss the political instability that has divided our country.
How then to survive the visitation of these plagues, natural and man-made?
Millay’s lines from her poem encourage me to believe that man will not only “endure, but prevail.” (Faulkner’s words). Our farmer who has been flooded out has in his possession a “pocketful of seeds” with which to start again. His grit and resiliency serves to remind us that we are all capable of rising above the terrible times and storms that would try to drown us all.
Mel Glenn
I retired in 2001, after teaching thirty-four years of high school English. I’ve written many books for young adults and others who are not so young, including Brooklyn Diner and Other Places. I could not have been a writer if I were not a teacher. When not writing, I am obsessed with “Jeopardy” and am the biggest Mets fan in Brooklyn!
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I read The PIague when I was a junior at Notre Dame, in 1978. I’d been given an assignment to write a paper about the book but had confused deadlines, and I realized at about 6 p.m. one evening that the paper was due at 9 a.m. the next morning – and I hadn’t read a page, had no idea what it was about.
Monks and holy guides of many different faiths agree that each person has their own “grace.” As Thomas Merton writes, “And each way is a grace, a special way is a special grace.”
On the mantel above my fireplace sits a representation of Quan Yin. I keep her there where I can always see her, because she embodies my intention and my spiritual practice as a human being and as a writer.
I lived in my suburban townhouse for nine years before I set foot inside a neighbor’s house. I knew their names and enough for a few minutes of small talk, but after that it felt safer to hurry back inside…
