November 26: "Jack," Work Horse, Christmastide

Mary Oliver reflects on changing seasons in life . . .

Jack

by:  Mary Oliver

The wagons stand

And rust, and glitter sometimes in the moon,

Since we have lost dominion of the fields.

No more great clattering Jack,

His thick mane filled with chaff and wind,

Will let us lead him from the easy barns;

No more sweet gentle Jack

Will let us strap him to his leather bondage

And help us tow the weight of summer home.

The days

Are easier now, and we have time for thought,

Idling in corners of our weedy land.

But now we learn, as season follows season

And no one plants upon these hills,

How poor a gift is freedom to the spirit

That loved the labor.  Now, like Jack,

We stand turned out into eternal Sunday,

And look through moonlight at the silenced wagons.

Yet we have lives to balance our regret,

Can turn in other things.

Now in the moonlight we can move away,

While he is left staring upon the stark

Arrangement of the wagons leaning earthward:

The simple blood that cannot name its lack,

But knows the world has fallen out of reason,

That it is autumn, and no laborer comes.

Oliver says in this poem, "How poor a gift is freedom to the spirit / That loved the labor . . ."  Jack--sweet gentle Jack--is used to the rhythm of the seasons.  Plowing.  Furrowing.  Planting,  Harvesting.  Plowing again.  All Jack knows is the great clattering work of the farm, and, when he no longer has that work, Jack is lost.  He's entered a world of eternal Sunday.

As a person who works every day of his life, I sort of envy Jack.  Yes, Jack's a work horse, accustomed to hard labor, and when that back-breaking work becomes a footnote in his life, he is left staring at the remnants of his old existence forlornly.  Like Jack, I'm kind of a work horse, too.  I love most of my jobs.  Teaching at the university.  Planning programs for the library.  Playing organ/keyboard for various churches on the weekends.  Blogging.  Writing poetry.  Leading poetry workshops.

But, let's face it, work--even fulfilling work--can be exhausting.  That's why I envy Jack's eternal Sunday.  To have a life that is just sabbath, day after day, sounds pretty good to me at the moment.  You see, there are two seasons in my life that are most busy:  Christmas and Easter.  At Christmas, there's final grading at the university on top of all the usual holiday craziness, including five or six additional worship services on Christmas Eve and Day for various denominations--Catholic, Lutheran, and Methodist mostly.  Easter is much the same--forty days of extras, including Holy Week, which culminates in about five or six services in the space of three days.

So, you can see why being put out to pasture doesn't sound quite so terrible to me right now.

On the other hand, I am not a person who can remain idle very long.  I have a feeling that, if/when I'm able to retire,  I will find other ways to fill my time.  That's just the way I'm built, I think.  Like Jack.

So, if you happen to run into me in the next few weeks, please pardon me for being distracted or frazzled or bone tired.

Saint Marty is simply back in his Christmastide saddle again.