NoahsLark.com
Title
Noah's Lark
Description
The grave’s a fine and private place / But none, I think, do there embrace. — Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress”
For most people, cemeteries are melancholy and depressing — so I’ve repeatedly been told, especially lately, after sighting so many old and ruinous cemeteries here in Dublin that I would immediately become anxious to linger in and photograph. It’s not always said, but usually implied, that there’s something strange about that; cemeteries are, for most, places to visit only at best out of a somber sense of duty — but something must be wrong with those of us who would take a kind of happiness in them. A quiet and reflective happiness, to be sure, but a happiness all the same.
And yet who are cemeteries for, if not for the living? The dead are beyond caring where and how their bodies are given rest; the tombstones and monuments we raise over their remains are built by living hands, to be witnessed by living eyes — not just in remembrance, but more importantly, I think, in a kind of hope. Each edifice marks a soul whose life was cared for enough to be celebrated and commemorated in this way — and each is, in its way, a plea to celebrate and commemorate our own lives, and those whose lives we share in, before they too mark their passage under cold stone. Each is a form of saying, “I was here, I walked the same earth as you, I was no less alive than you are now” — and, if you believe in it and allow yourself to feel it, something of that endures beside and beyond the bones, something that is as alive as us still.
Languages
English
Contact
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