"Autobiographies of great nations are written in three manuscripts – a book of deeds, a book of words, and a book of art. Of the three, I would choose the latter as truest testimony." - Sir Kenneth Smith, Great Civilisations

"I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine." - Leo Tolstoy

I have never believed that one should wait until one is inspired because I think the pleasures of not writing are so great that if you ever start indulging them you will never write again. - John Updike

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


[Note - If any article requires updating or correction please notate this in the comment section. Thank you. - res]


Tuesday, September 5, 2023

Personal Update - A Life Reconstructed


In 1903 Edvard Munch held an exhibition at the newly refurbished Kunsthandlung P. H. Beyer & Sohn in Leipzig, where Munch had been allocated the gallery’s skylit room. Eighteen paintings, inlaid in a light textile frame, were presented as a frieze in the room. Running as a horizontal band high up on three walls, the frieze essentially became a part of the room as a whole. The article therefore proposes to consider the exhibition as spatial art and examine it in light of the concept of Gesamtkunstwerk. The documentation of the exhibition is a unique source for understanding Munch’s “Frieze of Life” and its spatial representation, even as the paintings highlight the role of the exhibition room at the turn of the twentieth century. The exhibition room played an instrumental role in how Munch developed his art.

Alan Sorrell: A Life Reconstructed


Personal Update:
A Life Reconstructed


With apologies, I have been sick most of the summer dealing with a surgical infection from eight years ago. At the end of last summer of 2022, I was dealing with a newly opened abscess on my foot which I managed until May of this year when a surgeon opened up the foot to clean it out and sent me home to let the newly opened gash heal.

However, the surgery failed and necessitated a second surgery weeks later resulting in the addition of a wound pump for the rest of the summer... this time with thrice weekly nursing visits to the home. But again, the open would wouldn't heal despite the care. In fact it got worse.

At which point, after eight years of sloughing it out, it was time to remove the infected foot-and-ankle titanium prosthetic which held my foot together. One I broken in my early teens attempting to stop my fall over the edge of a cliff I had intentionally and poorly navigated. And upon the same limb which I had played physical sports until my early fifties when needing a total knee replacement.

This hopeful prosthetic was removed a week ago, cleaned of gunk, and cemented in place with a time-released antibiotic. Since there was now extra skin all was bound up without the miserable wound pump I had come to detest. Nine days have past in morbid pain from loss of device, crutching around on tired arms, and awaiting removal of cast some nine days out. Thankfully, we found a couple knee scooters which helped immeasurably giving relief to my aching body and spirit.

Once this surgery heals there will be a minimum of two more surgeries until there is no longer any infection and the foot can be fused to the ankle without addition of any more mechanical devices. If unsuccessful then there might be a future holding an amputation with the addition of a fully mechanical half-limb and incumbrances to come. Hopefully not. But it is why I waited so long before finally allowing the doctors to remove the original prosthesis.

Tomorrow I speak once again to infectious services to determine if a picc line through the arteries to the heart will be necessary or not. I expect it will require a month or more of antibiotic infusions which I will manage along with a nursing visit once a week to change out the port placed into my arm. But I am no stranger to this practice either as my first wounds eight years ago were far, far worse... being quite long and wide, travelling up-and-down several parts of my leg. It is the main reason I will not "suffer" a second internal prosthetic; the other being that 35% of these second surgeries fail in infections again.

At that time I found myself slipping into despair, if not depression, as I looked into a black pit badding me step forward one more step. The pain was overwhelming. The worse being the first three months - though the next five months thereafter were no picnic either. And then there was the constant severed nerve pain which lasted 4.5 years. It required a steely will beginning with refusing to step forward into an oblivion I might not come out... though I remember blackness to seem a fathomless comfort to the septic fevers rolling through my body.

Anyway, I've been taking these past summer months to catch up with life. Find a little time for introspection. And to rest from writing, which task I've done regularly since the fall of 2009 upon retirement. A retirement I've not only filled with poetry and writing on the cutting edge of a new theology - which I've placed on my other website - but to leave my job and volunteer church ministries to work within my community.

During these past retirement years I held committee and board positions on City, County, and College panels; became a certified Master Naturalist through MSU's extension program (including a 100 hours of community service); and joined over two dozen environmental organizations working, planting, burning, strategizing, creating, and building a living ecology in West Michigan with others who bore the same passion and veracity as myself.

In so doing, we have created the foundations necessary for empowering regional green infrastructures and green business practices to our part of West Michigan across local and state levels and all parts in-between. I could never have done this while working or raising a family. After 30+ years in technology and lay ministries I finally laid all aside and took the time to participate in creating healthy sustainability practices for habitat and clean water projects.

Over the last fifteen years I worked, volunteered, learned, and gave input across a number of ecological areas. Many of them politically unwanted but expediently necessary knowing the climate change coming upon us in the decades ahead. In these tasks I have greatly enjoyed being a part of community seeking to aide strangers via innumerable opportunities and probabilities. It was fun. And it gave to me the experience, perspective, and depth I needed to write of social contracts and personal enlightenments.

Now lately, one I get pass these remaining hard monts, I hope to continue working on both websites to leave with my family, friends, and interested readers helpful ways in which we might think about our personal value to one another and the greater good we might attempt for humanity. I see no reason not to thrive during these times of pandemic, socio-political upheaval, failure of religious institutions. At no time should we give in to adversity, perversity, calamity, bleakness, or short-sightedness. But at all times we are to give ourselves to diversity, modality, veracity, and tonality in the trying years ahead. It's what get's me up in the morning to create, destroy, rebuild, and envision communities of life.

Peace,

R.E. Slater
September 5, 2023

* * * * * * *


We will always rebuild - a poem for the broken by Jeanette LeBlanc

We will always rebuild

(a poem for the grieving)

by Jeanette LeBlanc

You are here.
You are here.

Even though everything smells like love and loss and burning.
Start with this.

You are here and it hurts.
It hurts because of all you’ve lost.
Your heart is a 3am siren, driving through that sucker punch bruise of a night sky.
Never a sign of anything good.

Here, nothing feels good.
Now you’ve begun.

You are here and it hurts and the world feels impossibly heavy.
There is not enough air in the room.
The quilt on your bed is eight hundred pounds of weight keeping you from movement.
There is no going back

There is never any going back.
Now you’re getting somewhere.

You are here and it hurts and the world feels impossibly heavy and you are shouting bargains at the moon.
He is listening but does nothing.
There is nothing he can do.

You are on your knees in the grass,
clutching handfuls of earth.
This is progress.

You are here and it hurts and the world feels impossibly heavy and you are shouting bargains at the moon and there is nobody else to hear you
It is the darkest night you’ve ever lived through
You’ve lived through.
You’ve lived.

Do you hear me?
You live.
You make it.
You survive.

There is a faint tinge of light on the horizon and you made it.
Now we’re finally moving forward

You are here and it hurts and the world feels impossibly heavy and you are shouting bargains at the moon and there is nobody else to hear you and there is a grief wail building inside of you.
Through the earth, through your toes,
Your legs, your belly, your chest and lungs,
The reach of your arms, your curled fists.
Your neck
Your jaw
Your face
The top of your head.

Have you ever seen a building implode?
Yes. This is you.
Now you know you have begun the work of healing.

You are here and it hurts and the world feels impossibly heavy and you are shouting bargains at the moon and there is nobody else to hear you and there is a grief wail building inside of you and you crumbling.
The ground shakes as her own broken pieces slide rough against each other.
There is a red earth landslide and everything is tumbling into the sea.
On the ocean, a wall of water rushes toward land.
Disaster cannot be prevented, only survived or not.
The earth knows well the pain of things that cannot be fixed.

Your pain cannot be fixed.
There is no shortcut through this.
This knowledge is the key to everything that will come next.
There is more to come.

Sometimes healing looks like falling apart.
Sometimes falling apart is the path to what can be built.
Sometimes, we go through the darkest nights and there is nobody but the moon to hear.
He always listens.
Now you listen.

There is not enough air in the room but you are breathing.
There is nobody here but you are held.
You have broken and the world is breaking and we will always rebuild.

Do you hear me, love?
We will always rebuild.

Jeanette LeBlanc


Sunday, August 27, 2023

R.E. Slater - What Am I Made For?



What Am I Made For?
by R.E. Slater


        These are the little lives

                                            our once lives

                           which are becoming meaningful

        as we imagine meaning

                                        seeking our meaning

                                                                against those who won't

                                                or can't

                            give it to us

    giving us false meaning

                                                harming meaning

                                                                                        demeaning meaning

                suffocating meaning

                                        we are drowning

                                                    are learning to fight the currents

        overwhelming us
                                                        overcoming us

                                                                                                refusing to give up

                                                    because of who we are

                        and what we can do

                                                                                        sometimes feebly

                                                perhaps in anger

        refusing the lies we are told

                                                                    about ourselves

                                                        and the rot which

                                        comes with those lies

    childhood is hard

                    growing up is confusing

                                                           our ideas

                                                                    my ideas

                                                                            never die

                                                    unless we let them

                                they are the bastions

            we have lived within

                                                        which must come down

                        so that we become the persons

                                                                                                who we must become

                                                                            are becoming

                                                striving to make our worlds better

                                        as we can

                where we can

                                                                    just by being me




RE Slater
August 26, 2023

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications
all rights reserved


* * * * * * *


Leaving Childhood
by R.E. Slater

At some point a child will leave their "Age of Innocence" and enter a their own "World of Reality"; most likely this transition will be marked by sadness and pain, grief and sorrow, spurred forward by a deeper realization of the kind of world that they are finally coming to see for what it is.

It is the first of many moments of existential crisis. When thinking back I remember many... some felt the earth move underneath both my feet and soul. Others when watching mom work so hard or dad being exhausted in his youth trying to keep up with the demands of his mom, family, and several jobs. Or my own when seeing the world through the eyes of my brothers. 

Childhood by-and-by teaches young children ways to grow-up under ofttimes less-than-ideal circumstances. For some, they come to realize that the only "stable thing" they might depend upon is their own approach to difficulty when not ignoring those moments while searching for more reasonable responses to what can seem as personally harming or upsetting events.

For those children like myself who grew up in moderately dysfunctional families we learn to manage such moments when practicing various outcomes. Perhaps anger, indifference, steeled emotional barriers to dim the poisoned darts piercing our souls; or, bring joy to significant others via performance in studies, sports, chores, obedience, etc. Each action an exploration to the onion-like layers lying across our little beings struggling to survive and understand over the long years of shaming, guilt, manipulation, gut-wrenching labelling and demeaning, from our peers and older adults of all kinds.

Sometimes children manage to overcome that which strives to overcome our little souls. And at other times we simply cannot and grow up to burying ourselves in a bottle, or drugs, addictions, or anger. Some refuse to submit by trying to find a way out, or in. To find people who might show us better attitudes and behaviours for approaching life's many challenges. Perhaps through brief moments of serenity, in nature, in afamily home, in mentored situations, etcetera... where we might re-gather ourselves to try again... perhaps this time more successfully than last time.

As caring parents with deep pasts as these we may try to spare our little ones these "awakening" moments for as long as we can... some by easing their children into it through wide readings across a variety of childhood books, perspectival nursery rhymes, thoughtful songs, or a mosaic of life-experiences as best we can undertake them.

Other parents, having fewer choices or opportunities living in the harsher climes and realities can not. There, bitterness, regret, anger, guilt, and a host of life-changing emotions cruelly come into our children's lives to which we are helpless to protect, shield, or explain. Here, we seek shelter in the arms of others stronger than ourselves wherein our children might find respite and better ways to surmount daily challenges.

My own awakenings consisted of a series of childhood moments and events which I have attempted to remember and characterise through my poems and writings, in various church ministries, participation in community civil actions, environmental groups, or in snowmobiling, sports, hunting, and for a time, parenting... (actually, parenting never stops; it's a life-long blessing which is as difficult as it is fun)

At one point in my childhood - I do not know when - I remember attending to the gravesides of innumerable loved ones and unknown relatives - that at some point it had become a normalized event much like going to church.

At first I didn't understand, and then later, it seemed like every-other-week-or-month we were back at the family plots as my grandpa and grandma's loved ones passed away one-by-one until finally they did themselves. Upon my grandma's death it effectively closed the final pages of a very long and heavy tome recounting our earlier farming pioneers and their descendents over a 150 year period. The morning of grandma's death felt like the closing of an era never to be recovered again.

These loved ones and named stranger all were dutifully remembered by my aged grandma whose farmhouse was next to our own home. She daily rehearsed to my little attenuating ears the long assemblages of my relatives and their relatives over the eons. Which explained the many graveside funerals of my blooded heritage as they lived-and-died in their flesh-and-blood legacies.

This kind of bloodline retelling of my "homesteading" descendents might be more fully described through the beloved author, Wendell Berry's, own childhood legacies to which he has dutifully remembered and reflected upon through a number of autobiographical portraits of his own descendents as children who grew up to pick up the traces of their moms and dads cares and burdens.

And thus it is with the Barbie movie played and directed by Margot Robbie along with a host of talented actors. I came to the film not knowing what to expect and left saddened and wizened by the heavy weight children must everywhere bear as we parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, friends, and neighbors, try each-in-our-own-way to ease their "existential burden" as best we can by our own caretake of those little lives who come to us for a time where we might lead by relationship, example, and wisdom.

Peace,

R.E. Slater
August 26, 2023


* * * * * * *


"Coming of Age" Movies







Or even Castaway (when a grown up adult suddenly finds himself terribly alone).



* * * * * * *


“Hi, my name is Billie, and I’m going to play a song that I made up with this guitar,” the singer says as the video begins, which shows footage from Billie Eilish's childhood interspersed with footage of sold-out shows from around the globe in the last year.



Billie Eilish - What Was I Made For?
(Live from Lollapalooza Chicago 2023)


Lyrics
I used to float, now I just fall downI used to know but I'm not sure nowWhat I was made forWhat was I made for?
Takin' a drive, I was an idealLooked so alive, turns out I'm not realJust something you paid forWhat was I made for?
'Cause I, II don't know how to feelBut I wanna tryI don't know how to feelBut someday, I mightSomeday, I might
When did it end? All the enjoymentI'm sad again, don't tell my boyfriendIt's not what he's made forWhat was I made for?
'Cause I, 'cause II don't know how to feelBut I wanna tryI don't know how to feelBut someday I mightSomeday I might
Think I forgot how to be happySomething I'm not, but something I can beSomething I wait forSomething I'm made forSomething I'm made for


Billie Eilish - What Was I Made For?
(Official Music Video)



* * * * * * *



Barbie Ending Explained:
The End of Barbie Was Inevitable

POSTED: JUL 28, 2023 5:44 PM


It’s time for a Barbiesplainer. Plus, are there any post-credits scenes in the Margot Robbie movie?

Let's make this simple: Do you want to know if there’s a post-credits scene in Barbie? We’ll tell you right here: There are no post-credits or mid-credits scenes in the film.

That said, the credits do feature a fun tribute of sorts to the history of the Barbie doll, so you might want to stick around for that!

Full spoilers for Barbie follow...

10:19

Barbie Ending Explained

By the near-end of Greta Gerwig’s Barbie, Barbie (Margot Robbie) has gone flat-footed; traversed land, sea, the great outdoors, and outer space — to the real world and back; been arrested twice; dismantled Ken’s (Ryan Gosling) cowboy patriarchy and restored the idyllic matriarchy of Barbieland. And still, she’s left staring back into the internal void of self-doubt, feeling unworthy, ugly, and unfulfilled. Welcome to sentience, Barbie.

For a movie that works within a fever dream of internal logic — “just feel it,” the ghost of Barbie’s creator, Ruth Handler (Rhea Perlman), tells Barbie-as-audience-proxy in the second-to-last scene — Barbie is grounded in humanism (and, yes, unapologetic feminism) that was inevitably leading to the choice Barbie is given at the end of the film the second she asked if anyone else had thoughts about dying during the co-ed rager in the first 10 minutes.

Barbie Movie Character Posters



In the conclusion, Barbie and Ruth have a heart-to-heart in the same empty James Turrell-esque set (Barbieland’s collective unconscious, if you will) where the Kens staged “I’m Just Ken.” It’s their grand reunion after Barbie escapes Mattel HQ and the dimwitted horde of all-male execs, headed by Will Ferrell, who chased her into the liminal space of a hallway. Opening a door to a sun-lit kitchen, she finds Ruth sitting serenely at the table. (“There’s a rumor that her ghost lives on the 17th floor,” whispers Ferrell toward the end of the film. Notably, Handler died in 2002 at 85.) After her adventure, feeling unsure about who she is anymore, Barbie is presented with the options of staying in Barbieland or entering the real world as a human, with all their flaws, anxieties, and cellulite.

For Robbie’s “Stereotypical Barbie,” the first of the Barbies named after Handler’s own daughter Barbara, it’s like a creation meeting their benevolent god and asking why they were ever born. Ruth appeals to Barbie with her personal story, including passing mentions of her double mastectomy and tax evasion — both of which are true to life. Handler had breast cancer in the ’70s and was indicted with four other Mattel execs for manipulating sales records to influence the company’s stock prices between 1971-1973.

Though this is certainly a “wait, what?” moment, it wouldn’t serve the film’s story to try and explain it further. The point is, as Ruth says, that living as a human, and especially a woman, is a messy, complicated affair, doubling down on the Cognitive Dissonance of Modern Women monologue America Ferrera’s executive assistant Gloria gives the Barbies to break the spell of Ken. (It’s worth mentioning the greatness of that whole sequence of baiting Kens to mansplain Photoshop, The Godfather, Stephen Malkmus, etc., leading to an acoustic guitar circle of Kens singing Kendom’s on-the-nose national anthem, Matchbox Twenty’s 1996 rock radio hit “Push,” on the beach. How do the Barbies and Kens know these cultural references? Just don’t think about it.)

After spending so much of the movie fretting over the fact that she had never wanted anything to change, Barbie has seen and experienced too much to ever accept life as she knew it, a never-ending string of the best day ever. Even Ken, after reading about dudes and horses and war and “brewski beers,” has learned something new about himself and the world he lives in: The patriarchy stinks and his identity is more than just following around Barbie like a puppy. “Maybe it’s Barbie, and it’s Ken,” Robbie tells Gosling right before he goes down the Barbie Dream House’s pink circular slide shouting in self-enlightenment, “Ken is meeeee!”

Barbie’s existential crisis was instigated by the fact that Gloria, Barbie’s owner, has been going through her own struggles as her daughter Sasha grows up. She copes by drawing Depression Barbie — which manifests into an ad for a doll that scrolls Instagram for seven hours a day and continuously rewatches BBC’s Pride and Prejudice — and Irrepressible Thoughts of Death Barbie. This has forever altered Barbie’s brain chemistry, but all she needs is the confidence boost from Ruth to take the leap forward into a new life where, yeah, she’ll probably still be catcalled, feel bad sometimes, get cellulite, and eventually die. But it’ll all be because of her own decisions, and there will also be the small joys to be found outside of a once-pristine existence.

She’s realized that not every day we spend alive is amazing, not every night is girls’ night. It’s full of mundane tasks and appointments, like going to the gynecologist, as Barbie does in the last scene — which is another leap of logic in itself. Earlier in the film, Barbie says that neither she nor Ken have genitals. Does a doll choosing to become human suddenly grant her a digestive and reproductive system? Can the ghost of a doll inventor even do that? Once again, it’s best not to think about it too much. At the end of the day, it’s a surrealist extended toy commercial. Just feel it.

8:55



Wednesday, August 16, 2023

R.E. Slater - On Sunday (Poetic Haikus)

 



On Sunday

*Haikus are 3-verse Japanese compositions
consisting of a 5-7-5 syllabic structure



"The sun hurts my eyes;
a big fir stands behind me
awaiting audience."



A day we may rest
read, sleep, play, or contemplate
reviving holy faith.






Hearing children laugh
playing nearby grassy beach
bring fond memories.



The lake's fresh breeze
revive my spirit's center
refilling spent life.






A lazy dog barks;
I half-open a sleepy eye
falling back asleep.



Feeling the hot breeze
a book page flutters forward
like new days passing.






We rise up to leave
Sunday restfully passed
stengthened, inspired.



- RE Slater
Sunday, August 14, 2023

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications
all rights reserved






Saturday, July 8, 2023

Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson



Poetotopia

Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson

“Requiem” is engraved, as directed by Robert Louis Stevenson, on his grave. Stevenson died suddenly on 3 December 1894 when he was talking with his wife. He collapsed after uttering two words “What’s that?” Within a few hours, he vanished into non-entity at the age of 44. Before his death, he wished the lines of this poem to be engraved on his tombstone. The most iconic lines of this piece include:

Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

Summary

The poem “Requiem” is about a wish of the poet R.L. Stevenson concerning where he should be laid after his death. He describes the wide sky, lit with several stars. His wish is to lie beneath such a glorious sky. He has lived gladly. So he wants to gladly embrace death. It is not that death will be victorious over him. He laid himself down with a will, a determination of death. After his death, he wants a few lines to be sung commemorating him. These lines feature a “home” that is compared to a “sailor” and “hunter”. While death is represented as “sea” and “hill”.


Meaning

The title of the poem "Requiem" means "an act or token of remembrance." This poem is a remembrancer of the poet that he left behind for his dear readers. Besides, the term also means a Mass for the repose of the souls of the dead.

So, Stevenson wrote this piece for two purposes. One is to make him memorable in the minds of his readers as a “sailor” or a “hunter” (in their metaphorical sense). Another reason concerns how he wants to be remembered. He does not want to die like a person defeated by death. Rather his wish is to be reminded of as a person who accepted death wholeheartedly.


Form, Rhyme Scheme, and Meter

This poem consists of two stanzas. Each stanza has four rhyming lines. The rhyme scheme of the overall piece is AAAB CCCB. It means the first and last line rhymes together.

In the first quatrain, the first three lines end with a similar rhyme (“sky”, “lie”, and “die”). The same applies to the first three lines of the second quatrain ("me", "be", and "sea").

Regarding the meter, each line consists of eight syllables except the second line, which consists of seven syllables. In most cases, the stress falls on the second syllable of each foot. Thus, the poem is composed in iambic tetrameter with a few variations.

Let’s have a look at the metrical scheme of the first stanza:


8    Un-der/ the wide/ and star/-ry sky,

7        Dig/ the grave/ and let/ me lie.

8    Glad/ did I live/ and glad/-ly die,

8        And I laid/ me down/ with a will.


8    This be the verse you grave for me:

7        'Here he lies where he longed to be;

8    Home is the sailor, home from sea,

8        And the hunter home from the hill.'


Literary Devices & Figurative Language

Stevenson uses the following literary devices in his poem “Requiem”:

Alliteration:
The repetition of similar sounds in neighboring words can be found in “starry sky”, “dig the”, “let me lie”, “Here he”, and “hunter home”.

Inversion:
It occurs in “Glad did I live and gladly die”. Here, the regular sentence pattern is reversed.

Metaphor:
In the last two lines, Stevenson metaphorically compares death to a “sea” and a “hill”. While he compares himself to a “sailor” and a “hunter”. As a sailor longs for the sea, so does the poet.

Repetition:
There is a repetition of the word “glad” in the third line. In the last two lines, he repeats the word “home” thrice. It is meant for the sake of emphasis.

Line-by-Line Analysis & Explanation

Lines 1-4

Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

Stevenson’s “Requiem” begins with visual imagery. The poet depicts a beautiful wide sky, lit with stars. Such a sky is a symbolic representation of glory. In the following line, the poet orders his grave to be dug under such a sky. His tone is peaceful and welcoming. He does not fear death. Rather he says, “let me lie”.

According to him, he lived happily. So, why can he be sad at his death? As he lived, he wants to die peacefully, with a smile on his face. If anyone thinks that he is mentally defeated by death. It is not the case.

In the following line, he remarks that he laid his body down. He does it with a will, a determination engendering directly from his heart. His soul cannot be defeated. Even if he dies, he will live through the variety of works he created during his lifetime. This poetic “will” displays his unrelenting attitude.


Lines 5-8

This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

In the final quatrain, the poet writes the verse that should be graved as his epitaph. Besides, the term “grave” means to fix indelibly in the mind. So, the lines he writes should be engraved in his readers’ minds. When they think about the poet, they should visualize him in the way he wants.

He points at this grave and tells readers that it is the place he longed to lie in. He does not fear death or the cold grave. In the following lines, he gives the reason for thinking so.

According to him, “home is the sailor”. Here, he compares himself to a sailor. This body is his second home and the “sea” symbolizes his permanent place. Like a sailor cannot live without voyaging on the sea, the poet longs for the metaphorical “sea” death.

In the following lines, he uses another analogy of a “hunter” and “himself”. A hunter is never happy staying at home. He becomes restless for hunting. When he goes to the hill, he becomes happy and fulfilled. Likewise, the poet is going to be happy when he leaves his mortal home and goes up the “hill”. This “hill” is a symbolic reference to heaven or eternal life. Only death can help him to reach there. Hence, he accepts death with all his heart.


Historical Background

The first draft of “Requiem” was composed in 1880. In 1879, Stevenson was near death when he arrived in Monterey, California. By December, he had recovered his health and traveled to San Francisco, California. But by the end of the winter, he was so ill that he found himself at death’s door. This experience made him write this poem. He mentioned his tombstone and epitaph in a letter of February 1880. Stevenson always wanted his poem “Requiem” inscribed in his tomb. After his death, on 3 December 1894, he was buried at Mount Vaea. The lines were inscribed on his tombstone thereafter.


Questions & Answers

What is Robert Louis Stevenson’s grave epitaph?

In 1879, Stevenson went to California to marry Fanny Osbourne. His health was broken there and he found himself extremely close to death. It led him to think about his death and he wrote the poem “Requiem” as an epitaph for his grave. He wanted these lines to be inscribed on his tomb.
What is the poem “Requiem” about?

The poem “Requiem” is about the poet’s final wish. Through this poem, he describes how he wants to be remembered after his death. He also specifies the location where he wants to be buried.
When was “Requiem” by Robert Louis Stevenson written?

Stevenson wrote this poem in 1880 when he was in California.

Where was Robert Louis Stevenson buried?

Stevenson was buried at Mount Vaea, located in Samoa. He lived the last four years of his life on the east side of Mount Vaea and chose the mountain top as his final resting place.

What type of poem is “Requiem”?

It is a lyric poem written in a regular rhyme scheme. The first-person speaker (Stevenson) talks about his final wish in this poem.

Explore More of RLS's Writings

External Resources
  • About “Requiem” — Read more about the poem and explore a short sketch on the poet’s life.