1967 was an exciting year in my life. I was 28 years old. My husband, Ken, and I left our suburban life in Florida and moved to Atlanta where he entered Candler School of Theology at Emory University. I supported us by working at Emory. We were heavily involved in civil rights issues. The next year, 1968, we would be heavily involved in the aftermath of the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.
My own personal passion, one that I'd had for a long time was writing. Being a practical person I knew I couldn't make a living writing (especially poetry) and at that time I'd never been published.
In the 60s Candler published a magazine called "Junction." It was filled with pretty heady, esoteric stuff. So I was thrilled when I submitted a poem and they published it. Later on they published more, but this first one not only thrilled me by being accepted, and thereby rewarding my passion- but the poem itself was about passion.
But a Pale Shadow
Once a man said to me,
I feel the greatest sorrow for those
people who are rising up from the
very depth of civilization and
begging that the world hear their
agonizing cry.
And I said, "Not I, my friend."
I sorrow for those who have never bothered
to cry out.
Those who are content to live in mediocrity,
In suspicion of their fellow man,
Never for anything,
Never really against anything,
Afraid of the outside,
Never knowing the ultimate love which comes
from giving oneself completely.
Don't look for them in some far away place.
They are all around us.
My heart weeps for them.
***
