May Sarton

I found this poem by May Sarton that I had to perform for an oral interpretation class in college, (yes, I went to a four-year college, Tina =). I love it for the sentiment toward her father. It's entitled "A Celebration For George Sarton" from her book Selected Poems of May Sarton.  I even got an A.  Don't know if it's punctuated the way she wrote it because I typed it out with all the pauses, stops, and inflection to read it the way I wanted to the class. I keep losing this old typed copy, so I wanted to put it in a place where I can always find it.

I never saw my father old.
I never saw my father cold.
His stride, staccato vital.
His talk struck from pure metal, simple as gold.
And all his learning only to light a passion's burning.
So beaming like a less god,
He bounced upon the earth he trod,
and people marveled on the street at this stout man's impetuous feet.

Loved donkeys, children, awkward ducks,
Loved to retell old, simple jokes.
Lived in a world of innocence where
loneliness could be intense.
Wrote letters until very late,
found comfort in an orange cat.
Rufus and George exchanged no word,
but while George worked, his Rufus purred
and neighbors looked up at his light,
warmed by the scholar working late.

I never saw my father passive.
He was electrically massive (a little marvel).
He never hurried, so he said,
and yet a fire burned in his head.
He worked as poets work--for love--
and gathered in a world alive
while black and white above his door
spoke mystery, the avatar,
an Arabic inscription flowed like singing
"In the Name of God."

And when he died, he died so swift,
his death was like a final gift.
He went out when the tide was full,
still undiminished, bountiful:
The scholar and the gentle soul,
the passion and the life were whole
and now death's wake is only praise
as when a neighbor writes and says,
"I did not know your father, but his light was there.

I miss the light."