Old Man Under the Night

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See more from George Hobson on his website: https://www.georgehobson.com, and find his poetry and theological works here.

I stood like an old man under the night

With all the stars sprinkled across heaven like crystals.

I seemed to hear them tinkle like sheep-bells

Far off in the earth-warm fields

Where the sheep were settling down to sleep

In night’s cavernous barn.

 

I saw the Big Dipper scooping up space

And its handle curving toward the bowl of the Little Dipper

Scooping up space, both Dippers hung in the void

As they were long ago when I stood wide-eyed,

A young man, and the old world too

Seemed young then to my eye.

 

I stood under the night like an old man

And saw a shooting star streak across the black

And go out like a spark somewhere out there,

And the Dippers motionless meanwhile,

Scooping out black space

Forever and ever.

 

I remembered I was once a young man

And went to and fro, here and there, like a firefly

Flitting about in the air everywhere

In the night, unconscious of time,

Till one day I was aware suddenly

That time was slipping by.

And it was like patterns of clouds at sunset—

You see the patterns changed but not the change itself;

And it was like waves seen from a plane high up—

You don’t see the waves actually breaking,

Only the foam on the sea’s face,

The waves having broken.

 

I stood under the night, an old man, and saw

My life a shooting star having streaked across heaven,

Persons and places fixed fast in the field

Of time past, like the stars in the Dippers,

And I seemed to hear them tinkling faintly

Like sheep-bells in the night.

 

Under the immense night I stand now, an old man,

And contemplate the nature of eternity.

Shall I not go out soon from this starred cave

Into light-filled Day, where change

Isn’t loss, where once is now,

Where all good is present?

 

Shall I not stream with the persons I’ve cherished

Through reaches of creation unimaginable now?

The field of time will be a field of love,

The young will be wise, the old, young,

Constancy of life will prevail,

And ceaseless communion.

Vincent van Gogh, Starry Night over the Rhone