by Sidney S. Stark
Thanksgiving is often the favorite holiday of choice to celebrate. I’ve heard people say that’s because it has no religious or specifically personal connotations for them; ‘though if that’s so I’m not sure
who they think is responsible for the bounty being appreciated. But I see the point of having a marker honored by everyone for whatever reasons they choose. It’s the collective remembrance that’s important. Some of my loveliest Thanksgivings have been populated by people with shared values and experiences rather than DNA.
That said, I recently came across a favorite poem of mine when doing research for the novella I’m making out of my grandmother’s memoir. I recited the poem in French at a summer camp I went to when I was eight years old on Lake Champlain. I found it quite easily (in English) when I typed in the author’s name, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, while surfing the ‘net. Reading it again after a lifetime of forgetting, I found the poem has the instinctive power I remembered as a child and perhaps more than I could have appreciated then. Other than my maternal grandmother, most of my family avoided the holiday milestones so I’ve tended to downplay them myself as an adult. In rediscovering this poem I’ve been reminded of what a big mistake that is.
Thinking of children joining adults at a table to share a Thanksgiving meal together, I can feel the message of Saint-Exupéry’s poem filling the air like the warmth of the baking smells that waft from the kitchen and wrap everyone in wreathes of delight. Please take a few minutes to read Generation to Generation below, and if anyone would prefer the French version let me know. I’d be happy to send it on so you can enjoy the gorgeous tempo and resonance of the words in its original language. Happy Thanksgiving to you all.
Generation to Generation By Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
In a house which becomes a home,
one hands down and another takes up
the heritage of mind and heart,
laughter and tears, musings and deeds.
Love, like a carefully loaded ship,
crosses the gulf between the generations.
Therefore, we do not neglect the ceremonies
of our passage: when we wed, when we die,
and when we are blessed with a child;
When we depart and when we return;
When we plant and when we harvest.
Let us bring up our children. It is not
the place of some official to hand to them
their heritage.
If others impart to our children our knowledge
and ideals, they will lose all of us that is
wordless and full of wonder.
Let us build memories in our children,
lest they drag out joyless lives,
lest they allow treasures to be lost because
they have not been given the keys.
We live, not by things, but by the meanings
of things. It is needful to transmit the passwords
from generation to generation.
I would be very gratefful if you could send me a copy of the original poem in French. I have searched the net in vain!
Many thanks,
Mike Burns