THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, January 28, 1996 TAG: 9601290235
SECTION: COMMENTARY PAGE: J2 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: EDITH R. WHITE
LENGTH: Medium: 79 lines
AT EIGHTY TWO
A Journal
MAY SARTON
W.W. Norton. 350 pp. $23.
In At Eighty Two, May Sarton keeps a daily log of her voyage onto the uncharted seas of old age. She sets out on July 25, 1993, dictating to her secretary the course of her thoughts, feelings and events. Later she reads over the typed version to enrich it with afterthoughts.
Sarton, a poet, novelist and memoirist, managed to write in her journal until Aug. 1, 1994. But her journey ended in July, 1995, when at age 83, she died.
Sarton wrote over 50 books, 38 of which are still in print. The lives of women facing old age alone, buoyed up only by their love of nature, literature and other women, form the core of much of her work. For this, her last journal, she suggested the title ``Kairos,'' to indicate a unique time in a person's life, an opportunity for change.
``The point of a journal is the day-to-day struggle,'' May writes.
She lives alone in her lovely old house on the coast of York, Maine. But she is very dependent upon others, on the many women who come to assist her. Although in her 1973 Journal of a Solitude, she described her ``real life'' as being the creative times she is totally alone, she now expresses some trepidation about being without help when she is taken ill. She dreads, too, the black depression that grips her.
Her ship always sails jauntily downwind when she receives a puff of praise for her work. These winds blow in often from friends and from strangers who feel they know her because they have read her books. But then she must respond. Her ship lists badly as she views her desk piled high with clutter. She feels ill and exhausted and wonders daily if she can cope with the demands on her energy.
Frustrations weigh her down. It is increasingly difficult to climb the stairs, to button a shirt, to deal with a broken septic tank, and a cat who sprays. Scissors, letters and words keep getting lost, and a magnificent line of maples is cut down. She cries and stamps her feet in rage when life is not smooth sailing.
But there are great delights. Sarton is blessed with many caring friends who visit and invite her out for delicious meals, choice wines and sparkling conversation. One couple, out of sheer love, volunteer to clean her attic! There are interviews for the media and for her biographer, and plans for reprints of her books. Her greatest pleasure is having her cat, Pierrot, stretch out on her bed at rest time and purr sensuously.
The weather is crucial to Sarton's well-being. When days are gray and rainy, or when snow piles high and the temperature drops below zero, depression blankets her scene. But the first daffodils coming through the snow are harbingers of hope. Friends and admiring readers often send her flowers to cheer her.
Running through her days are memories of a happy childhood and of her friendships with Elizabeth Bowen, Virginia Woolf and other literary figures. But over her frail vessel she feels a dark cloud. It is that her poetry has not been seriously received. Although she receives constant praise from her readers, it does not satisfy: ``I cannot shake the belief that my work has missed the boat.''
Her gloom can be dispelled by the view of an oriole or by writing a poem. With a poet's voice she describes the seasons. With a keen reader's perception she reviews the eclectic assortment of fascinating books she is enjoying.
She reports in detail her physical and mental state. But of her spiritual well-being there is no mention. Perhaps this is the rudder that is lacking, and why she seems sometimes adrift in a sea of self-concern. Reading May Sarton's journal is a warm, personal experience. She comes across as a valiant old lady living on the edge of the sea and of time, trying to savor each day. MEMO: Edith R. White is a Norfolk artist, storyteller and librarian. ILLUSTRATION: Photo
May Sarton
by CNB