Perfection Wasted, by John Updike
And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market –
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories
packed in the rapid-access file.
The whole act.Who will do it again? That’s it: no one;
imitators and descendants aren’t the same.
I have long loved this poem by John Updike. Like all poetry that really moves me, it hits different chords on different days. Often I’ve read it and thought about “your own brand of magic,” wondering and doubting that I have any of that, and thinking through those whose magic dazzles me regularly or sporadically.
Today I’m thinking about those in the front row. The people who are dearest, those whose tears I know and whose warm breath moves, sometimes, in rhythm with my heart. Those in the front row are a mixed group, and very small in number. I love the image of adjusting our “slant” to a few. Yes, in a negative interpretation this is molding ourselves to others’ expectations in a way that compromises our truest selves. But I think there is another way to think about it: that is to consider that those we love dearly become a part of us, their input and reflections and advice and feedback gradually shape us over time, and as we incorporate tiny shards of them we also become more fully ourselves.
To take Updike’s metaphor further (though I don’t actually resonate with the notion of people watching me on a stage – that is certainly not how I want my life to be) it is those in the front row who can see beneath the stage makeup. Those in the front row can see when the actors hesistate over a forgotten line, or when they take a wrong step and are cued back to the right spot by a look in the other actor’s eyes. As familiar as those in the front row are, so am I familiar to them. And as uncomfortable as that familiarity may sometimes be, it is, in the end, the stuff of real life and the way to being truly seen.
Who is in your front row? Have you told them how grateful you are for them recently?