Ecclesiastes 1, Recast in Classical Poetry, by T.M. Moore

Wind and Vanity

after Ecclesiastes 1

My name is Solomon, and you may know
me as the king of Israel, David’s son,
a man of wisdom unsurpassed. And so

I was. And yet I write to you as one
emerging from some near-insanity
and folly. I have seen, beneath the sun—

where all is only matter, time, and free
will—that the best of man’s intentions and
exertions are but pride and vanity.

What profit from his labors has a man
when all is said and done? What difference does
he make? What does he leave behind? How can

he hope to be remembered, though he was
intent on carving out a legacy?
The generations come and go, because

death comes to all; the hungry grave will be
our common fate. And yet, the earth abides.
The sun comes up each day perpetually;

and then it sets, returning like the tides,
to where it rises once again. The wind
blows to the south, then turns and harshly rides

up to the north. It travels without end
upon its moaning circuit. Likewise, all
the rivers flow down to the sea, and lend

their issue to its vast, dark depths. Withal,
the sea is never full; the rivers cease
not flowing, whether great or small,

but hasten to the sea again, release
their substance, and return. And what of man?
Do all his pondering and work increase

his understanding of this life? Or can
they show the meaning of existence? Do
they save us from this vanity we stand

in? Everything is full of labor. Who
can understand it? We can never see
enough, or hear enough, or ever do

enough to make sense of this life. Thus we
are never satisfied, and happiness
eludes us. What has been is what will be;

and what was done—though it confound, oppress,
deceive, or disappoint us—will be done
again, to our enjoyment or distress.

For there is nothing new beneath the sun,
within that wall constructed by the mind
of man apart from God. Can anyone

insist that anything is new? Or find
out something not already done or shown?
Since ancient times it has been there, behind

the veil of history, waiting to be known.
No one remembers former things; nor will
the future thank you for the seeds you’ve sown

beneath the sun. You may obsess until
you die about your legacy, but who
will care? Or who for you a tear will spill?

As king, and young, I knew not what to do
to rule my people well. And so I set
my heart to seek out matters wise and true,

to learn by wisdom all I could, and let
God’s Word illuminate my way—to guide
my thinking and my plans. That is, I set

my mind to seek the truth of God, and side
with Him no matter what, to live under
the heavens, not the sun, and to abide

there in God’s presence, filled with awe and wonder.
Indeed, this is a difficult affair.
But God has set us to it, lest we blunder

in all our folly, turn aside, and dare
the heavens to challenge our presumptive ways.
Now I have seen the works done everywhere

beneath the sun, the heights of pride, the maze
of self-deceit, and all the vanity
and lies by which men prosecute their days.

It is all folly. But we cannot see
the crooked path we walk, because it seems
straight to us. Straight, though, it will never be

while crookedness and lies define our schemes
and set our course. Beneath the sun, we feed
on wind, and all our fondest hopes and dreams

elude our grasp, and disappoint, and breed
despair and anger. What we lack, we can
not find; we fail to meet life’s deepest need.

So I communed within my heart: “Can man
know wisdom, knowing folly? I have gained
much wisdom—knowledge, too—more wisdom than

all kings who in Jerusalem have reigned
before me. I have understood all learning!”
Along with this, then, I sought to be trained

in folly and in madness. For there were, burning
in me, strong desires and lusts, which proved to be
my ruin, nearly. All the while, my yearning

to gain more wisdom grew. I came to see
that this was merely grasping for relief
from folly, groping vainly to be free.

For in much wisdom, there is much of grief.
With knowledge, sorrows break in like a thief.

T.M. Moore’s poetry has appeared in numerous journals, and he has published five volumes of verse through his ministry’s imprint, Waxed Tablet Publications. He is Principal of The Fellowship of Ailbe, he and his wife, Susie, reside in Essex Junction, VT.