Devouring Time, Blunt Thou Thy Lion’s Paws

We all know the woods are safer than people

Photo by joel herzog

They found Jim Harrison on the floor next to his writing desk, a pen by his hand.

Is there a more fitting way for a poet to exit this world? On Harrison’s desk was an open notebook, containing the following words of an unfinished poem:

“The earth used to be God’s body / but he took too many wounds and abandoned it…”

Harrison was no stranger to wounds.

When he was seven years old, a neighbor girl stabbed him in the eye with a broken bottle during a dispute, permanently blinding that eye. Then, when Harrison was 21 years old, his father and sister were killed in an automobile accident.

Years later, Harrison fell off a cliff while bird hunting and was bedridden for months. Much later, after 55 years of marriage, his wife Linda passed away from a rare lung disease. He also suffered from back surgery and shingles.

Maybe that’s why Harrison was such a heavy drinker and smoker.

Sometimes vices, despite their deleterious effects, provide a kind of salve for the wounds of life. The scars remain, but their sting softens.