Light's Ladder

In this extraordinary new collection by distinguished poet Christopher Howell, the opening poem presents us with a spiritual paradox that will echo throughout its pages. The speaker remembers an earlier time of happiness, freedom, and a certain innocence. The poem closes with: And if he remembers now he is in love, which is the soul's condition, and alone because that is how we live. ...
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In this extraordinary new collection by distinguished poet Christopher Howell, the opening poem presents us with a spiritual paradox that will echo throughout its pages. The speaker remembers an earlier time of happiness, freedom, and a certain innocence. The poem closes with:



And if he remembers now



he is in love, which is the soul's condition, and alone



because that is how we live.



"How we live" is the book's major inquiry; its illustration, the poems' major achievement. How do we live, in our dailiness, in our loves, our private and global wars? And, in the face of unbearable grief, how can we live?







Keats



When Keats, at last beyond the curtain



of love's distraction, lay dying in his room



on the Piazza di Spagna, the melody of the Bernini



Fountain "filling him like flowers,"



he held his breath like a coin, looked out



into the moonlight and thought he saw snow.



He did not suppose it was fever or the body's



weakness turning the mind. He thought, "England!"



and there he was, secretly, for the rest



of his improvidently short life: up to his neck



in sleigh bells and the impossibly English cries



of street venders, perfect



and affectionate as his soul.



For days the snow and statuary sang him so far



beyond regret that if now you walk rancorless



and alone there, in the piazza, the white shadow



of his last words to Severn, "Don't be frightened,"



may enter you.