Anne Porter helps me redeem time.
Time, of late, has been zooming past me at a frightening speed ("It's mid-October? What?! It's Friday again? Already? No!") We're still living in the midst of a pandemic and I'm still staying home most of the time, but there's so much to do at home when you work from home.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near ....
Anne Porter, who lived to be 100 years old, offers respite.
Her life was busy, too (from The Poetry Foundation):
Married to the painter Fairfield Porter, she raised five children in a busy, artistic household, frequently forced to pursue writing on the side. When her husband died in 1975, she began to write poetry much more seriously. As she told the Wall Street Journal: “I remember realizing that I was alone, and I'd have to be more organized. I had these poems, and I thought that it would be worthwhile working on them. I started to write.” Her first collection, An Altogether Different Language (1994), published when she was 83, was named a finalist for the National Book Award.
Her first collection of poetry was published when she was 83. So, maybe I have a few years left, too.
Time. It seems I never have enough time. And yet, perhaps, I do have time enough.