This couplet from the Slovak poet Milan Rufús provokes rich despair about the vanity of work and life – an image worthy of the book of Ecclesiastes:
Clocks drumming
grind the day in their jaws.
[From "After Everything," in And That's the Truth, Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, Inc. Copyright 2005 Milan Rufús. English translation copyright 2005 Ewald Osers and Viera and James Sutherland-Smith.]
When she makes herself at home and takes her place in your family – as Petra has with us. Here she and Ethan are playing “Heart and Soul”:
People who bore one another should meet seldom; people who interest one another, often.
C. S. Lewis
In the previous example we saw how poetry could give us a “wonderfully full, new, and intimate sense” of the passion of Christ. But poetry is also handy when we want to express more down-to-earth passion. Here is a simply delightful example of how a few well turned phrases can stir us:
Upon Julia’s Clothes
by Robert HerrickWhenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!
“Brave vibration,” I think, is beyond the Beach Boys’ skills….
Here is a second demonstration of what Matthew Arnold calls “the grand power of poetry” – and this example, like the previous, is fitting for Good Friday. The poem is George Herbert’s “The Sacrfice.” I previously edited it and made some comments for Pen and Pulpit, so I will refer you there to read the poem at your leisure. I will simply reprint my introduction here in order to (I hope) pique your interest.
Micah 6 opens in the courtroom, with God accusing his people. He calls them to give an account for why they have returned his kindness with their rebellion: “My people, what have I done to you? How have I burdened you? Answer me.” The medieval Church took this passage and others such as Psalm 69:21 and Isaiah 5:2-4, and created a liturgy for Good Friday called the Improperia, or “The Reproaches.” The priest pronounced the Reproaches as from the mouth of Christ on the cross, and the people answered with cries for mercy. It was an acknowledgement of our ingratitude to God for his incalculable goodness toward us, and of our hand in crucifying the Lord of Glory. (more…)
Here again is Matthew Arnold’s thesis:
The grand power of poetry is its interpretative power; by which I mean … the power of so dealing with things as to awaken in us a wonderfully full, new, and intimate sense of them, and of our relations with them.
I said that I might demonstrate what I think he means by citing some examples. I will start with a short and very simple piece that is appropriate for Good Friday – then I will add a second post with a more involved poem that also explores the Events of this day.
This poem is from Daniel Raus, Song: Prayers from Prague and Other Places:
all my paths failed
yours did not
all my paths skirted suffering
yours led
straight
there
Read it a few times. Doesn’t it awaken in you a new sense of or a new perspective on Christ’s passion? Among other things, the poem asks us to reconsider the relationship between failure and suffering. It suggests that our efforts to avoid all suffering at any cost may not be on the right path.
[The poem is (C) 2000 by Daniel Raus; English translation (C) 2000 by Gwen Harmston; published by Porta Libri in Bratislava.]
What do you think of this book cover? It makes me think the book is some kind of weird science fiction. What’s with the tree growing up his nose? Is that the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil? Is the face looking out of a cave? I’m not sure what’s going on – you are welcome to offer your interpretation in a comment.
For some reason I find the picture disturbing. And I happen to know, even though I don’t read Spanish (except what it takes to order off the menu in New Mexico), that the subject matter is disturbing.
Anyway, it looks like someone could buy a copy here if he wanted to.
The grand power of poetry is its interpretative power; by which I mean … the power of so dealing with things as to awaken in us a wonderfully full, new, and intimate sense of them, and of our relations with them.
Of course this isn’t true of all poetry simply because it is poetry. Nor is this power exclusive to poetry – I find it in prose, painting, and (in a way I can’t articulate) music that moves me deeply. But when I find this power in prose, I’m tempted to say that the prose is poetic – and likewise for painting and music. So I’m happy with Arnold to call this “the grand power of poetry.”
Perhaps I will post some examples to illustrate this power as it works on me….
Here’s a pensive portrait of our beautiful daughter Karen in the days when she would fit in a laundry basket (and for some reason she enjoyed it):
Here’s an action shot of our son Nicholas who is now close to earning his M.S. in (you guessed it) Computer Science:
