To Rest in Peace
The night is long and still I cannot sleep
For fear the dawn will steal what I would keep
When hope and restlessness have wrestled till
The willow near my bedroom windowsill
Bends nearer down to say she’ll weep with me,
One generation to the next, poor tree–
The night will surely pass, and so will sorrow,
Yes, just as death’s outlasted by tomorrow,
So let me sleep, O grief, or let me fly now,
Over the willow tree, rise up and die now–
For what’s this aching but forewarning cold
That what’s ahead is neither dross nor gold
Except it brings me closer by its cost
To endless morning, healed of what I’d lost.
My dear friends, this post was prepared some time ago because I knew it was going to be a busy day: a travel day for my husband and me on our return home from TMEA (the Texas Music Educators Association’s annual conference of well over 20,000 musicians, students and teachers). Not at all surprisingly, being surrounded by this musical ‘cloud of witnesses’ has made our thoughts turn to Eric Ericson and the many gifts he brought to the choral world over his long and storied career, and to my spouse’s and my lives as well, so we were talking about him as we walked home from a TMEA event late last night. So somehow, despite the sadness of it, it was not so shocking to waken this very morning to the news that he has died. He was, after all, 94 years old. But it seems to me that he was escorted out of this world on a wave of music, and that is only fitting for such a titan of choral culture. He will be missed by uncountable choirs of his musical offspring–and he left a song that will never stop resounding in our midst. Farewell and peace, Eric.
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What a beautiful poem and tribute, Kathryn, and the coincidence of his death and you talking about him is very surreal…have a lovely Saturday…xx
Oh, I think there are far more connections in our universe than meet the eye. So it isn’t shocking to me that we’d be talking about Eric right around when he died any more than it is that I would have ever crossed paths with him in the first place, given our widely divergent lives. That’s one of the true gifts of this world, I think, expressed just as sweetly as, say, meeting *you* here in cyberspace. 🙂 xo
I agree and you said it so well! xo
Sorry to hear of the death of someone you respected so, Kathryn. My condolences to you and the Conductor.
Thank you, John. I know we’re in a truly vast company of people befriended and influenced by Eric. Lucky us. 🙂
94, not long enough; “To Rest in Peace”, mourning serene & sympathetic,
another of ki’s perfect poems…
194 isn’t long enough to do all of the living one might like to do! But I hope I can learn from people like Eric just how much Living can be squeezed into whatever years I’m granted. 🙂
And I, like you living in Texas, lost a 92-year old uncle in New York City last week. The only other, also there and of the same age, is likewise ailing. Call this the time of the end of uncles.
Oh, I’m sorry to hear of your loss–and another expected soon, from the sound of it. Eric felt a bit like an uncle to us (and in fact, looked remarkably like my maternal grandfather), besides being a kind friend and mentor. Even if you lived far from your uncles for a very long time I know it’s still a poignant change to have them leave this world. It’s almost like the thread connecting us to each other gets plucked a million miles away and every one of us feels a tiny bit of the vibration.