TS Eliot Marina

Quis hic locus, quae regio, quae mundi plaga?

What seas what shore what grey rocks and what islands

What water lapping the bow

And scent of pine and the woodthrush singing through the fog

What images return

O my daughter.

Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning 

Death

Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird, meaning

Death

Those who sit in the sty of contentment, meaning

Death

Those who suffer the ecstasy of the animals, meaning

Death

Are become unsubstantial, reduced by a wind,

A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog

By this grace dissolved in place

What is this face, less clear and clearer

The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger–

Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye

Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet

Under sleep, where all the waters meet.

Bowsprit cracked with ice and paint cracked with heat.

I made this, I have forgotten

And remember.

The rigging weak and the canvas rotten

Between one June and another September.

Made this unknowing, half conscious, unknown, my own.

The garboard strake leaks, the seams need caulking.

This form, this face, this life

Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me

Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,

The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.

What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers

And woodthrush calling through the fog

My daughter.

In Tractatus Logico Philosophicus, Wittgenstein wrote that death was not an event in life, yet he failed to mention that dying is an event in life. This poem by TS Eliot about Pericles, from Shakepeare's play Pericles, the Prince of Tyre, is one of the most moving descriptions of dying ever written. During the last days of my father's life, my sisters and I took turns watching him through the night. As he lay there sleeping, his body a ravaged vessel – "the rigging weak and the canvas rotten" – he would often become animated, holding out his hand as if to greet someone. We wondered whom and what he was seeing in his dreams – "what seas what shore what grey rocks what islands what water lapping the bow." Still in his sleep, he would mumble words, sometimes in Vietnamese, sometimes in French. It is said that a dying person would often relive the past – "What images return." In Eliot's poem, the image that returns for Pericles is that of his daughter Marina, from whom he had been separated for years and whom he believed to be dead. I wonder if in his meetings with the past my father ever glimpsed his first-born son, who had died while still a young boy. Two days before he passed away, my father called all of us to his bedside and lucidly articulated his readiness to depart, just like Pericles in Eliot's poem:

 "This form, this face, this life

Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me

Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,

The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships."

There is so much that I will never know. What final calling through the fog did he hear? What images returned? All I have is this poem to ensure that I will never forget those final days.