Noel Coward; more brillinat than I

Windy today
and I am less than brilliant...

So begins a poem I heard read by Garrison Keillor on the radio a bit ago, and it struck me as a pretty good summary of the way I've been feeling of late. As I was searching for a quick line or two to toss in here to explain my lingering social absence to online friends, acquaintances and total strangers who couldn't possibly care less, I thought I'd try a Google search of the only two lines I could remember.

Appropriately enough, I typed in, "I am less than brillinat," which yielded nothing but a condescending, "did you perhaps mean 'brilliant?'" by the google brain-bot and gave me a chuckle; I could practically hear it muttering a snide, "genius" under it's breath. A few clicks later I was at the Writer's Almanac from American Public Media and the original poem, "The Color of Sky" by Tony Hoagland which, though excellent, was not really saying what I wanted to.

But I also found this lovely little poem by none other than Noel Coward, whose work I have always enjoyed but would not have thought of in the context of such nostalgic sadness. Clearly an illustration of my limitations and not his.

Nothing is Lost

Deep in our sub-conscious, we are told
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
Family jokes, out-moded anecdotes
Each sentimental souvenir and token
Everything seen, experienced, each word
Addressed to us in infancy, before
Before we could even know or understand
The implications of our wonderland.
There they all are, the legendary lies
The birthday treats, the sights, the sounds, the tears
Forgotten debris of forgotten years
Waiting to be recalled, waiting to rise
Before our world dissolves before our eyes
Waiting for some small, intimate reminder,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.

That was all I meant to say.