Thursday, January 29, 2009

From The Grave: Updike Write's His Own Epitaph

It came to me the other day:
Were I to die, no one would say,
“Oh, what a shame! So young, so full
Of promise — depths unplumbable!”

Instead, a shrug and tearless eyes
Will greet my overdue demise;
The wide response will be, I know,
I thought he died a while ago.

For life’s a shabby subterfuge,
And death is real, and dark, and huge.
The shock of it will register
Nowhere but where it will occur.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Martin Amis, another Updike admirer, once wrote:

"The textural contrast between your first and second wife’s pubic hair … is something that most writers feel their readers can get along without. The novelists of yesteryear would gallantly take leave of their creations at the bedroom door. Updike tags along, not only into the bedroom but into the bathroom. Indeed, he sends a little Japanese camera crew in there after them."