Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Her voice his eyes

On the other side I had seen a little girl,
her right hand holding a man's left,
leading him towards the night,
her voice being his eyes.
The sun is red, she said, and soon
she will dive into the glistening sea.

Having eyes only for the man at her side

she had not taken notice of me,
and still I felt like an intruder.
Suddenly I sensed myself walking away,

and only the sun could see
my eyes burning with sorrow and joy.

Could you see through walls,
there's a girl holding a man's hand
her voice being his eyes.
© Sean Jeating


  1. The dark Tower...The flaming sun...
    The poignant words...I don't know who wrote this beautiful poem. I'm so moved. Thank you, Sean.

    I was four years old when my grandfather (a fisherman from Gaspé) came to live with us in Montréal. He was 84, and he was blind. We had a very special relationship. I took him for little walks. I helped him at mealtime. I put his spitoon next to his chair. For my little services, he would stop my very stern mother from punishing me when I was a bit naughty. We played hide-and-seek in the kitchen. And, at bedtime, he told me about his fishing days. I wrote our story in French. Pépère Smith was my whole world. When I was with him, nobody else existed for me.

  2. Wow. That took my breath away. Beautiful. Stunning photo to complement the words.

  3. beautiful Sean!
    And happy Easter.

  4. Thank you all.
    When stumbling upon the photo in my archive, suddenly the memory came back, and within minutes the story was told.
    At least the lines 9-12 would not mind to get polished; perhaps, one day the words will come easy to me.

    interesting that my memories brought some of yours back.
    Thanks for sharing them.

  5. I love the widgets which send us to older posts. Sometimes, we rediscover a shiny moment which had been forgotten.

    When I read this moving poem, I didn't know you had written it, Sean. As you could see (by my comment) it really spoke to me. I thought it was splendid that the poet would realize he didn't exist for the little girl. In her world, only her grandfather mattered to her.

    It's up to you, of course. But I wouldn't change a line, Sean. The relationship of love and trust is very intense. As it is expressed, it flows naturally and beautifully.

    Thank you again for the memories.:)

  6. It has been a long time, but the words remain strong and profound.

    Your "You might also like" feature at the bottom of current posts so often takes me back to think I like to like again.

    1. Ah, Andrew, thank you so much. That's a wonderful compliment.

      When installing that very widget I was not sure whether I like it, or not. Meanwhile I think it holds some nice "surprise" now and then, e.g. your com(pli)ment. Thank you again.

    2. Oh, and with almost five years delay, thank you for your kind words, too, Claude.