"In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps." Proverbs 16:9
In elementary school, my favorite day of the week was always library day. After listening to a story on the carpet, I would make a bee-line to my favorite section. Located on the lowest shelf, by the fire-escape door was the poetry section. I would sit Indian-style on the floor, crossing my fingers that my favorite, very popular, selection would still be there. It would take no time at all for me to find it. It’s thick spine bound in white with bold-black writing was hard to miss. My favorite elementary selection on library day was always Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends.
“Sick”, “The Crocodile’s Toothache” and “Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out” were some of my favorite entries in Silverstein’s humorous offerings. His illustrations were simple but brilliant. His witty perspective and unconventional format made for entertaining childhood prose. I would read them over and over again until I had them practically committed to memory. The dog-eared pages of my beloved library selection never disappointed. With each reading I would discover a new unread gem: “Unicorns” and “Skinny” and “Magic Eraser” to name a few.
When Where the Sidewalk Ends was unavailable, checked out by some other budding aesthete, I would check-out its similar counterpart, another Shel Silverstien offering, A Light in the Attic. These poems were less familiar to me, however, they still possessed the wit and whimsy that Silverstein is so well known for.
When I became a parent and began reading to my young children, I bought these two classic books in hardbound editions and a third Silverstien book, Falling Up. I added them to my personal library. My children began to delight in the verses I had enjoyed as a child and I began to realize that I had great chunks of the writings memorized. We would spend long sessions on the couch, each child taking their turn to request a favorite. One night I remember, in particular, because our power had gone out. With no television or other technology to entertain them, my kids sought out these beloved treasures and we found ourselves again laughing at the absurdity and novelty of these wholesome poems.
Recently, upon revisiting A Light in the Attic, I happened across a poem that particularly struck a chord with me. I know I must have read it before, but it didn’t seem to live in my memory bank. Sometimes life circumstances cause understanding and appreciation that was not accessible before. The entry I most recently related to was a poem called “The Bridge'':
“This bridge will only take you halfway there
To those mysterious lands you long to see:
Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fairs
And moonlit woods where unicorns run free.
So come and walk awhile with me and share
The twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known.
But this bridge will only take you halfway there-
The last few steps you'll have to take alone.”
Oh, my goodness, how these verses played with my mind! What a poignant and complex idea is cocooned in these words! I have read them again and again and I continue to be perplexed and compelled by them. At face value, it seems to be a poem about a bridge; a journey. But upon further inspection, it is so much more! It is a complicated exploration of our existence. At least that’s how I see it now. I may be overthinking it. After all, it is a children’s poem, but…
“The bridge” will only take you halfway to the things you long for, and then you have to walk alone. Is “the bridge” life? Is it this world? Is it our temporal being? Are the things we long for things not of this world? After all, Silverstein describes them as fantastical things: gypsy camps, Arab fairs and unicorns. Not to mention those “wondrous worlds”. And the alone part… at the end? It’s almost like he’s speaking of our deaths, walking into the next world waiting for us, we have to do it alone. And then we can access those wondrous worlds occupied by gypsies and unicorns. Is that too morbid, or are you with me on this one? Again, I know it’s just a children’s poem but I can’t help digging into it and feasting on its complexity.
At face value I can think of it with a child’s eye. I see such simplistic beauty, but after reading it and dissecting it, I can’t help but contemplate the author’s purpose.
There are times in our lives that we look at things through a lens, then we’re able to refine our view with age and experience. Like me with these Silverstien poems in childhood, my focus has now changed. Something that seemed inert, begins to transform into something poignant. A bridge becomes an allegory. A poem becomes philosophy. I would almost argue that Shel Silverstien, in his quiet and innocent brilliance, wraps many of life’s beautiful lessons in his poetry. What a treasure it is to look into the past only to return with a renewed sense of wonder…
Maybe Silverstien’s poem about the bridge is in fact a poem about his own offering of poetry. Maybe his poetry is the mechanism to explore his world of imagination and fantasy; gypsies and unicorns. But if it only sits on the bottom shelf, by the fire escape, no one would ever have the privilege of taking that journey… Where we get to sit Indian-style, and reach out to the white spine of the book containing all those wonderful words.
If that’s the case, I sure hope tomorrow is library day. That you’ll open the pages and take those last few steps… into the moonlit woods and twisting trails… However, I’ll volunteer to keep you company. Because a journey is always better shared and I wouldn’t want you to have to take this one alone.
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