Posts from the ‘poetry’ Category
A Door to a New Beginning
John O’Donohue, while not specifically inviting us to open a new window or new door, does beckon us to move forward into what is “not yet clear” in his poem, “For a New Beginning.” The following is one stanza:
Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.
Sr. Arlene Flaherty at the door to St. Dominic's house in Fanjeaux, France. Does this door beckon you?
Sister Arlene is a Dominican Sister of Blauvelt, NY.
More of Sometimes Poetry is Preaching
What is there not to like about John O’Donohue? Today I offer a stanza from his poem, “A Morning Offering” for all of us.
May my mind come alive today
To the invisible geography
That invites me to new frontiers,
To break the dead shell of yesterdays,
To risk being disturbed and changed.
Sometimes starfish are poetry
What Should We Do about that Moon?
One of my favorite poets is Hafiz. I thought of his poem a couple of weeks ago when I saw this moon . . . not even full.
What should we do about that moon?
Sometimes Poetry is Preaching
I read this poem the other day in an email from Panhala.net. They always share wonderful poetry.
I should be content
to look at a mountain
for what it is
and not a commentary on my life.
- David Ignatow.
Atop a 12,000 foot mountain in Rocky Mountain National Park
A Poem by Antonio Machado
As I read this poem, I am reminded of St. John of the Cross’s poem, “The Dark Night of the Soul.” Lorenna McKennitt does an especially lovely version of it on her album The Mask and the Mirror. Both of these poems read beautifully in the original Spanish. But I think that Robert Bly has transmitted the sense of them.
Last Night, as I Was Sleeping.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt — marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt — marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt — marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.
Last night, as I slept,
I dreamt — marvelous error!—
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.
There isn’t much to be said; the poem says it all. The imagery of buzzing bees and a fiery sun inside my heart is stirring. The aliveness, beauty, sweetness, warmth, light,, and water of life, which is God, dwells within us at the very center of our being. Oh “marvelous error” indeed.
It might bother some, the translation of “bendita ilusion” (blessed illusion, dream, or vision) with “marvelous error.” Yet I am reminded of the words from our Easter vigil liturgy: “O happy fault, O necessary sin of Adam, which gained for us so great a Redeemer! Our Redeemer has, indeed, made sweet honey from all of our failures!
Thank God for the Poets
Perhaps I am into poetry at the moment. Certainly, I am enjoying Rumi.
God’s presence is there in front of us,
a fire on the left
a lovely stream on the right . . .
Whoever walks into the fire
appears suddenly in the cool stream,
Any head that goes under the water surface,
that head pokes out of the fire.
Most people guard against going into the fire,
and end up in it . . .
If you are a friend of God,
fire is your water.
You shoud wish to have a hundred thousand
sets of moth wings,
so that you could burn them away, one set a night.
(tr. Coleman Barks)
I am reminded of two things.
- In both the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, John the Baptist says that the one who will come after him (Jesus) will not be baptizing with water, but with fire. When I look at myself, as well as at most of us, I think we would rather settle for a baptism of water. We shy away from the fire, and end up in it when thrust there.
- I am reminded of the words of the song, “Live This Mystery,” by Michael Card. It goes:
As the river seeks to be
forgotten in the sea
so my soul is so thirsty
it longs for Thee.
Like a moth around the flame
drawn to the light
and to the pain.
Since my life is hid in Thee
I must live this mystery.
It is, indeed, a mystery, that that which can draw us, can also repel us. Paradox and mystery. Our lives are filled with them. We long for passion – for fire. And yet we try to stay away from danger; we do not want to be burned.
Thank God for the poets who find ways to express what we do not. And that their words can open us to mystery.
A Poem I Would Like to Make My Own
Rumi. How could you find a poet that could better express the movement of the soul . . . the stirrings of the heart . . . ?
Hospitality is one of those virtues that religious communities hope that they reflect. And sometimes we’re good at it, and sometimes . . . . . . Well, we fall into that place called human.
I found this poem today. And I would like to make it my own:
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
From:The Essential Rumi, p. 109, Translations by Comeman Barks, Harper: San Francisco, 1995.
