I was travelling out of the country when The Tragically Hip held its final Canadian tour, so I was unable to see them that last time. Instead, I had to settle with watching the documentary, Long Time Running. This was a poignant account of the band’s tour, and it evoked in me this poetic reflection.
The Hip
We come together in a raucous farewell –
a refrain of decades
with friends we’ve never embraced.
In mingled sorrow and exaltation,
we cry aloud
and brush liquid joy from shining eyes.
Even as we sing,
We all know what this means.
We spread arms, press palms to hearts
and become the chorus.
A woman’s hand cups her chin as she listens.
When the song ends –
As the tragic apprehension takes hold –
Her hand closes in a fist—complete.
Completely.
There’s a moment of suspense,
a breath,
a longing to hold on.
The last note hangs in the Kingston night,
echoing to a distant sea
from a dozen crowded squares.
And then it fades.
The final surrender comes.
The stadium,
the country,
grows still.
But it is a stillness of loss,
not sound.
Our cries continue to fill the night.
(These too will have an echo.)
And, dreading the finality of silence,
we struggle to hang on to this moment,
knowing that when it ends,
it ends.
And then it ends.
Cool night and dew
cling in beads
to vacant seats
and spread a sheen of moonlight
on an empty stage.
Kenneth D. Reimer
