Wednesday, May 14, 2008

On St. Thomas More--for her grandson, my nephew, his grandmother: My Mom

Relativity

Most have some and few have none but More had
more than most, while he with most of all still
wanted more -- still wanted More. Yet More would
not take more nor give of More to seek what
most would want, for More had All and more was
none (to More but not to all). So More gave
all for All, gave More for All, to leave the
one with most not more, nor More, but less than
most, not even none: not all, not most, not more, not
More, not some, not less, not none, not even
none, but less, far less, and less than none at all.
(c) DHB 2008

8 comments:

Anonymous said...

I really do love that - I'll have to direct Todd's family to your site to read it!

But, I have to admit, I can only understand it by substituting "Jim" for "More." Ha! Perhaps I've been away from academia too long...

Love, Katy

gregorbo said...

Thanks--I hope it's clear that this poem was written by someone other than me (i.e. "DHB"). But I'm glad you liked it. I did too. Hope the family enjoys it as well.

Anonymous said...

I think it's pretty clear; though it sounds like you could've written it!

I thought of your stuff the other day as I was listening to a recording of "The Great Divorce." I always love to find universal and timeless ideas even in modern writing. Kids bedtimes - more later.

Love, Katy

gregorbo said...

Thanks, Katy. I'll be adding another stanza to "They Say it is the Second Coming" soon, so stay tuned.

And thanks especially for calling me "universal and timeless"! I'll take that any day!

Cheers.

gregorbo said...

Test. gb

Gregory said...

An addendum: My mother is an accomplished poet. This piece proves it. I'm proud to be her son.

Linda Verlander said...

I never commented on this on your blog though I should have, since Mom wrote it upon the occasion of the birth of my own son, Thomas More. Thanks for posting it, and I agree that Mom is a poet, though she's never know'd it. Har.

Love ya,
Linda

gregorbo said...

I looked at this again the other day and realized that Mom almost wrote a sonnet. I wonder if she noticed . . .