What is a faun? Higher up and further in with an outreach twist. Writing.

Posts tagged “poetry

Beautiful or Telling Portions from “Gilead” by Marilynne Robinson #2

“That mention of Feuerbach and joy reminded me of something I saw early one morning a few years ago, as I was walking up to the church. There was a young couple strolling along half a block ahead of me. The sun had come up brilliantly after a heavy rain, and the trees were glistening and very wet. On some impulse, plain exuberance, I suppose, the fellow jumped up and caught hold of a branch, and a storm of luminous water came pouring down on the two of them, and they laughed and took off running, the girl sweeping water off her hair and her dress as if she were a bit disgusted, but she wasn’t. It was a beautiful thing to see, like something from a myth. I don’t know why I thought of that now, except perhaps because it is easy to believe in such moments that water is made primarily for blessing, and only secondarily for growing vegetables or doing the wash. I wish I had paid more attention to it. My list of regrets may seem unusual, but who can know that they are, really. This is an interesting planet. It deserves all the attention you can give it.” – Gilead, 10 % on Kindle


what a beautiful poem by George Herbert!

Yesterday while continuing my project to gradually and systematically weed through, organize and de-clutter our apartment, I was dusting a bookshelf and happened to come across an old college textbook on 17th c. poetry.  Feeling wry  fondness for the faded green hardback, I pulled it and dipped in.

I came across a George Herbert poem, actually several of them, already marked up in now-faded pen, by the “me” of 37 or so years ago, and they touched my heart, spoke to me, even YET, and YET AGAIN!  Especially this one!

JESU

Jesus is in my heart, His sacred name

Is deeply carvèd there, but th’other week

A great affliction broke the little frame,

Even all to pieces, which I went to seek:

And first I found the corner, where was J,

After, where ES, and next, where U was graved.

When I had got these parcels, instantly

I sat me down to spell them and percieved

That to my broken heart he was “I ease you”

and to my whole is JESU.

-George Herbert, a pastor in the 17th century.


Comforted

A Poem by Amy Carmichael

 

COMFORTED

 

A great wind blowing, raging sea,

And rowers toiling wearily

Far from the land, where they would be.

 

And then, One coming, drawing nigh;

They care not, now, for starless sky.

The Light of life says, “It is I”.

 

They care not, now, for toil of oar,

For lo, the ship is near the shore,

And their Beloved they adore.

 

Lord of the Lake of Galilee

who long ago, walked on the sea,

My heart is comforted in Thee.


Poems

img_1898The Prayer of the Tortoise

by Carmen Bernos de Gasztold

translated from French to English by Rumer Godden

 

 

 

Un peu de patience,

mon Dieu,

j’arrive!

 

 

A little patience,

O God,

I am coming.

One must take nature as she is!

It was not I who made her!

I do not mean to criticize

this house on my back —

it has its points—

but You must admit, Lord,

it is heavy to carry!

Still,

let us hope that this double enclosure,

my shell and my heart,

will never be quite shut to You.


Two Kids and a Crawdad

A Poem.

Two Kids and a Crawdad

by NinadesusOjos

 

Sun-shot shadows of skitter bugs, on moving amber water,

Our pant knees rolled, our cold wet hands touch

as we pry that biggest rock,

sharing expectancy.

We turn the rock. Mud spurts up

and scooting over our toes, he glides

beneath another rock.

We scream, step back and trip with icy splash,

becoming, briefly, part of

pebbled sunshine, mud,

and dappled crawdad’s world.IMG_3311


WHOO-Hoo!!! Just visited the U.S. public library of the town for the second time! My arms overfloweth with BOOKS GLORIOUS BOOKS!

Maybe I’m just strange but to me there’s almost no greater satisfaction on earth than, as an American and native English-speaker, to TRAVEL BACK HOME, “home”??, pull out one’s little red town library card, drive two miles down the road and enter the public library, greet the dear, sweet, kindred spirit, wonderful, gorgeous “Trishas”, “Gwens” and “Pams” by names and faces remembered, and vice-versa, and check out books, for free, carting them home and gorging. They’re all real good books – classics, Pulitzer Prize winners, I read one of them first – it’s short.  The Crucible, by Arthur Miller. (What’s with the serendipity of happiness to read two fantastic books in a row both written in 1953?  Good year for literature!)  The first was Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury and this latest, a play, is The Crucible by Arthur Miller, about the Salem Witch Trials of 1692 (and about McCarthyism in 1953). How did I ever miss reading those in high school or college, but I did. No calorie gain either!  Except for good “calories”, “calories” good for the brain, the heart, the soul, the life. I’m a happy woman, grateful to God!IMG_5696


WHOO-Hoo!!! Just visited the U.S. public library of the town for the second time! My arms overfloweth with BOOKS GLORIOUS BOOKS!

Maybe I’m just strange but to me there’s almost no greater satisfaction on earth than, as an American and native English-speaker, to TRAVEL BACK HOME, “home”??, pull out one’s little red town library card, drive two miles down the road and enter the public library, greet the dear, sweet, kindred spirit, wonderful, gorgeous “Trishas”, “Gwens” and “Pams” by names and faces remembered, and vice-versa, and check out books, for free, carting them home and gorging. They’re all real good books – classics, Pulitzer Prize winners, I read one of them first – it’s short.  The Crucible, by Arthur Miller. (What’s with the serendipity of happiness to read two fantastic books in a row both written in 1953?  Good year for literature!)  The first was Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury and this latest, a play, is The Crucible by Arthur Miller, about the Salem Witch Trials of 1692 (and about McCarthyism in 1953). How did I ever miss reading those in high school or college, but I did. No calorie gain either!  Except for good “calories”, “calories” good for the brain, the heart, the soul, the life. I’m a happy woman, grateful to God!IMG_5696


Poems

The Prayer of the Tortoise

by Carmen Bernos de Gasztold

translated from French to English by Rumer Godden

 

 

 

Un peu de patience,

mon Dieu,

j’arrive!

 

 

A little patience,

O God,

I am coming.

One must take nature as she is!

It was not I who made her!

I do not mean to criticize

this house on my back —

it has its points—

but You must admit, Lord,

it is heavy to carry!

Still,

let us hope that this double enclosure,

my shell and my heart,

will never be quite shut to You.


Poems

The Prayer of the Tortoise

by Carmen Bernos de Gasztold

translated from French to English by Rumer Godden

 

 

 

Un peu de patience,

mon Dieu,

j’arrive!

 

 

A little patience,

O God,

I am coming.

One must take nature as she is!

It was not I who made her!

I do not mean to criticize

this house on my back —

it has its points—

but You must admit, Lord,

it is heavy to carry!

Still,

let us hope that this double enclosure,

my shell and my heart,

will never be quite shut to You.


Poems

The Prayer of the Tortoise

by Carmen Bernos de Gasztold

translated from French to English by Rumer Godden

 

 

 

Un peu de patience,

mon Dieu,

j’arrive!

 

 

A little patience,

O God,

I am coming.

One must take nature as she is!

It was not I who made her!

I do not mean to criticize

this house on my back —

it has its points—

but You must admit, Lord,

it is heavy to carry!

Still,

let us hope that this double enclosure,

my shell and my heart,

will never be quite shut to You.