Category Archives: poetry

Walking with Moses and rain.

my garden, poetry, Psalms, winter, , , , , , , , , , ,

This morning was frosty enough to make ice in my garden fountain. I wore a thick wool sweater to church, and kept it on until I got home again five hours later and changed into my firewood clothes. Both the supply of logs near the wood stove and the nice rack I have in the garage needed replenishing from the stacks outside. I bring in a dozen or so logs at a time to dry out, and to have handy when it’s raining or just dark and I don’t want to go out.

Opposite that rack I have tubs and boxes and bags of kindling and newspapers, a place to split the kindling, and a bucket for collecting ashes. I don’t see how I’m ever going to make room for my car in the garage, which has been a minor goal for a couple of years now. That space serves as my pantry and laundry room and tool shed, and holds all the sorts of things that my daughter Pearl says you have to keep in the garage if you don’t have a basement.

The little guy below came in with a load of logs; the young house guests squealed and their mother scooped him out of the fireplace corner into a dustpan. He was trying to fall out of it, so I picked him up and tried to hold him in such a way that the children could look at him for a bit. But they would have none of it, and just wanted him out of the house, so I let him out the back door into the rain. I hope it washed him of all the woody litter.

The pewter wise men have arrived, after journeying across the table in my entry, to take up their worshipful positions in front of the Christ Child. I’ve removed a small amount of Christmas decor, mostly the fresh cotoneaster berries that weren’t fresh anymore. The redwood branches and candles remain, because they have life left in them, at least for today. And the faux tree will last as long as I want it to, which is, until I have some mental space to give to it.

For now, I have too many other projects going on. Writing thank-you letters to a few grandchildren, cooking soup for our women’s book group this week, and maybe a two hour trip to see my niece — just in this week.

At the same time, I am working on new habits. For more than a week now, I have taken a walk every day, outdoors, not on the treadmill. This was the scene on the bike path less than a week ago; can you see the leaves falling?

Since then we got a big dumping of rain, and the leaves aren’t so pretty anymore. One day I walked my old two-mile loop and it was quite delicious, because everything — the trees and earth and grass, and especially the air — was wet and refreshing and not cold. I wore my rain jacket and was prepared for a sprinkle, but when I was still ten minutes from home I got fairly drenched. Excitement like this has been adding to my general winter happiness.

Even before I read an encouraging article about the value of memorizing things, I had been planning to renew my effort in the coming year to learn some Psalms and possibly other poems by heart. “The Great Forgetting,” by Ruth Gaskovski, about “How ‘critical thinking’ and outsourcing of memory are withering culture, and how to turn the tide,” is giving me a boost.

Last year — or even before? — I had started to memorize Psalm 90 and 91 (89 and 90 in the Septuagint), and then lost my focus. This year, so far, I have noticed how my memorizing project coordinates nicely with my improved walking habits. I have the psalms written on 3×5 cards and can practice them as I stroll along — unless it’s one of those rainy days.

Here are the first few verses I am working on:

Psalm 89 — A Prayer of Moses, the man of God

Lord, Thou hast been our refuge in generation and generation.

Before the mountains came to be and the earth was formed and the world,
even from everlasting to everlasting Thou art.

Turn not man away unto lowliness; yea, Thou hast said: Turn back, ye sons of men.

For a thousand years in Thine eyes, O Lord, are but as yesterday that is past,
and as a watch in the night.

Things of no account shall their years be; in the morning like grass shall man pass away.

In the morning shall he bloom and pass away; in the evening shall he fall
and grow withered and dry.

The poetry of these verses, the rhythm of their music and the depth of meaning, as I tell them to myself phrase by phrase, is so beautiful to my mind and heart. Glory to God!

The Prophet Moses

Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven’s May.

poetry, prayer, , ,

I was first introduced to this poem by Dr. Oliver Tearle, on his expansive website Interesting Literature; he says it is little-known as a New Year’s poem. Twice before I posted a few lines of it, but this time I am sharing the whole thing. Usually I only like short poems, but this one is like a song that wants to be sung through all the verses, until the repetitions of “passing away, passing away” are completed, and finally, “Lo, it is day.”

OLD AND NEW YEAR DITTIES

New Year met me somewhat sad:
Old Year leaves me tired,
Stripped of favourite things I had
Baulked of much desired:
Yet farther on my road to-day
God willing, farther on my way.

New Year coming on apace
What have you to give me?
Bring you scathe, or bring you grace,
Face me with an honest face;
You shall not deceive me:
Be it good or ill, be it what you will,
It needs shall help me on my road,
My rugged way to heaven, please God.

Watch with me, men, women, and children dear,
You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear,
Watch with me this last vigil of the year.
Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme;
Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream;
Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart.

Watch with me blessed spirits, who delight
All through the holy night to walk in white,
Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight.
I know not if they watch with me: I know
They count this eve of resurrection slow,
And cry, ‘How long?’ with urgent utterance strong.

Watch with me Jesus, in my loneliness:
Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes;
Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless.
Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night;
To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight:
I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord my God, art mine.

Passing away, saith the World, passing away:
Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day:
Thy life never continueth in one stay.
Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to grey
That hath won neither laurel nor bay?
I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May:
Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay
On my bosom for aye.
Then I answered: Yea.

Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away:
With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play;
Hearken what the past doth witness and say:
Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array,
A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay.
At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day
Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay:
Watch thou and pray.
Then I answered: Yea.

Passing away, saith my God, passing away:
Winter passeth after the long delay:
New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray,
Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven’s May.
Though I tarry wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray:
Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day,
My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say.
Then I answered: Yea.

-Christina Rossetti, 1830-94

Christina Rossetti, by her brother Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Stars with a Now from long ago.

poetry, time, winter, , ,

WHAT NOW IS LIKE

Let’s go see what Now
is like outside.
Let’s open the door
look up at the sky
feel the cold night air
on our noses.
Let’s look at our breath
as we walk out
to the street.
Let’s look at how Now
holds the moon
in black branches,
how stars shine down
with a Now from long
long ago, how
they stare down
on our Now which
has coaxed them
to wink at us.
Let’s listen
to the night sounds
that rove the dark Now
beneath the traffic.
Let’s stop, look back
into the Now at the end
of the street; there
is something there
but I know it is behind us
in a place called Then
where our footprints
have forgotten
we ever made them.

-Tamara Madison

Shorten winter by this holy vitality.

Christmas, Nativity, poetry, quotes, , , , , , ,

In my Orthodox Christian household we have been enjoying our Christmas holy days, which just began on the 25th. I am keeping in mind the wisdom of G.K. Chesterton, who said, “The best way to shorten winter is to prolong Christmas.” That is, as you will remember, the opposite of what the witch did in Narnia, when she cast a spell making it “always winter but never Christmas.”

Hilaire Belloc wrote a lovely piece in 1928 about the way his house kept Christmas throughout the Twelve Days, titled “A Remaining Christmas,” and Hearth and Field has kindly republished it. There are naturally some things we do differently in my tradition, such as, we have Theophany at the end of the Twelve Days, and in the West it is Epiphany. But it is the same story that compels us to “Rejoice, and again I say, rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4) Here is one paragraph:

“Now, you must not think that Christmas being over, the season and its glories are at an end, for in this house there is kept up the full custom of the Twelve Days, so that ‘Twelfth Day’, the Epiphany, still has, to its inhabitants, its full and ancient meaning as it had when Shakespeare wrote. The green is kept in its place in every room, and not a leaf of it must be moved until Epiphany morning, but on the other hand not a leaf of it must remain in the house, nor the Christmas tree either, by Epiphany evening. It is all taken out and burnt in a special little coppice reserved for these good trees which have done their Christmas duty; and now, after so many years, you might almost call it a little forest, for each tree has lived, bearing witness to the holy vitality of unbroken ritual and inherited things.”

I didn’t get my greenery and full decorations up until Christmas Eve, so we are definitely leaving those for a while yet. Of course we have been nibbling away on the remains of our culinary feast, and I play carols in the car, and in the house when I remember.

Yesterday the younger house guests and I had a thoroughly sugary and creative session of decorating those gingerbread cookies we’d cut out on the Second Day. Also on the Third Day an impromptu Christmas tea party happened here, when more friends stopped by, and their children played my piano, which I know it was longing for. I brought out my real teacups, and twelve of us squeezed around the table to eat more Christmas cookies and drain the contents of four teapots. “Christ is born!”

On this Fourth Day, I listened to a wonderful story by Chesterton, read by Fr. Malcolm Guite, “The Shop of Ghosts.” It starts with visions seen through a toy shop window, and continues with a conversation with Father Christmas. Thank you, Mr. Chesterton, for helping us to prolong Christmas. It will never die.

I found that Belloc essay, which you can read here: “A Remaining Christmas,” along with his poem I am sharing below. If you want more commentary on the poem, this article by Joseph Pearce might be a good place to start. In it he also mentions T.S. Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi.” I had thought to post this compilation of Things Christmastide closer to Twelfth Night, but it seems to want to go out now, I guess to help us make the most of the days to come. If we are weary from the busyness that accompanied us to the manger, let’s stay there a while and worship, and find rest.

TWELFTH NIGHT

As I was lifting over Down
A winter’s night to Petworth Town,
I came upon a company
Of Travellers who would talk with me.

The riding moon was small and bright,
They cast no shadows in her light:
There was no man for miles a-near.
I would not walk with them for fear.

A star in heaven by Gumber glowed,
An ox across the darkness lowed,
Whereat a burning light there stood
Right in the heart of Gumber Wood.

Across the rime their marching rang,
And in a little while they sang;
They sang a song I used to know,
Gloria
In Excelsis Domino.

The frozen way those people trod
It led towards the Mother of God;
Perhaps if I had travelled with them
I might have come to Bethlehem.

-Hilaire Belloc