One More Sonnet

Tag: In the end

  • All but done

    All but done

    In the end, when all is finished,
    And the task is all but done,
    When the burden is diminished,
    To what it was before begun.
    It’s then that we can savour,
    The taste of sweet success,
    Let linger long the flavour,
    And with confidence impress,
    Be not bothered by the critic,
    With his crooked rule of thumb,
    Be not worried by the cynic.
    With his surface level scum.
    . In the end, the real end, all things being equal,
    . What’s done is done … so deliver not the sequel.

    © Tim Grace, 27 December 2010

    To the reader: We begin, often with an end in mind. At end, we arrive at a moment of completeness. Completeness delivers finality and/or conclusion; possibly both. Conclusive moments ought to be rich with satisfaction and deserving of hiatus; time for a break. A self-satisfied pause should offer some protection from those who would wish to offer judgement… the artist steps back from the canvas.

    To the poet: No doubt there was a particular incident that created my need to express frustration with an ending too abruptly injected with criticism. Get used to that. Responses to art are pretty quick to condense and find expression; the first impression says it all. The trick, I find, is don’t declare the ending too soon. Prepare the finish carefully.

     

    all but done all but done

     

  • In The End

    In The End

    In the end we meet finality
    Where there is no more to come,
    It represents totality
    The comprehensive sum.
    In summ’ry there’s an ending
    To a captured set of thoughts,
    There’s a possible extending
    Depending on reports.
    To conclude requires judgement
    Giving closure to a theme,
    Brings meaning to a segment,
    That may unrelated seem.
    . In a climax there’s achievement, a moment of reward,
    . A peak of high endeavour, a point of much applaud.

    © Tim Grace, 27 February 2010

     

    To the reader: In the vast scheme of things our minuscule stop-start segmentation of time must seem a little trite and unnecessary. Periodic pauses, earth hours, pit-stops, forty-winks and memorable moments form a staccato of stuttering events. The End and it’s relationship with finality is not fixed; all endings are not terminal. We use endings to pause the run of play, to catch our breath, before resuming with new vigor and direction.

    To the poet: Shakespeare was endlessly concerned with overcoming the injustice of time and reconciling this with a life short lived. His first three groups of sonnets consider options for achieving perpetuity; not eternal life, but eternal meaning is his desired destiny. Putting ‘The End’ in context is a poet’s lot; why am I doing this? In ‘The End’ is there any defense against the futility of a battle with Time?