>Seamus Heaney reads

>Here is a wonderful video of the great Irish poet Seamus Heaney reading and discussing poetry.

http://mitworld.mit.edu/flash/player/Main.swf?host=cp58255.edgefcs.net&flv=mitw-00079-poetry-heaney-17oct02&preview=http://mitworld.mit.edu//uploads/mitwstill-00079-poetry-heaney-17oct02.jpg

Heaney was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1995. I was introduced to his works by a good friend a few years ago. He is certainly in my top three favorite poets. The other two? 1) Czesław Miłosz, and 2) space available (could be Yeats or Wordsworth or a number of other poets). If you are not familiar with Heaney, buy a copy of his collected poems (there are several collections) and start reading.

I post this because this is National Poetry Month.

the unnameable

What life is this?
What hope and what death
and what desire?

What of any of it can I know?

It is human nature
to take the unspeakable
and speak of it,
to take the unnameable
and name it.
Reduction is a game we play,
a line drawn,
a list made,
a story told.

We are reductionists.

And what is love?
Is love a reduction
or something other?
And what lives within love,
what event shimmers there?

I have heard many things.

I have heard chaos
is a butterfly,
and war is a success of death.
But you don’t need war
for death to succeed.

What do I know anyway?
I do not know butterflies,
not really,
but I do know death,
I do know that.

I also know love.

And I know this too: When we have love
we have more
than knowledge can ever reveal.

So I live by the grace of God
in the place between,
where the earth and heavens meet,
where I can say the words
“I love you”
but I cannot name the event
that is love
for it remains, as always
unnameable

>Czesław Miłosz poems

>If you do not know the poetry of Czesław Miłosz then I encourage you to dive in. Buy a copy of his collected works and start reading.

Here is a beautiful video interpretation of Czesław Miłosz’s The End of the World.

http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docid=4676751397680252335&hl=en&fs=true

And here is a tribute/meditation of sorts to Miłosz:

http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docid=-5996866309505948219&hl=en&fs=true

I love that second video.

I post this because this is National Poetry Month.

>Πάσχα

>
“The tomb is empty.”

The eyewitness John wrote:

Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came early to the tomb, while it was still dark, and saw the stone already taken away from the tomb. So she ran and came to Simon Peter and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken away the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid Him.” So Peter and the other disciple went forth, and they were going to the tomb. The two were running together; and the other disciple ran ahead faster than Peter and came to the tomb first; and stooping and looking in, he saw the linen wrappings lying there; but he did not go in. And so Simon Peter also came, following him, and entered the tomb; and he saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the face-cloth which had been on His head, not lying with the linen wrappings, but rolled up in a place by itself. So the other disciple who had first come to the tomb then also entered, and he saw and believed. For as yet they did not understand the Scripture, that He must rise again from the dead. So the disciples went away again to their own homes.

But Mary was standing outside the tomb weeping; and so, as she wept, she stooped and looked into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white sitting, one at the head and one at the feet, where the body of Jesus had been lying. And they said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid Him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, and did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing Him to be the gardener, she said to Him, “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to Him in Hebrew, “Rabboni!” (which means, Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Stop clinging to Me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to My brethren and say to them, ‘I ascend to My Father and your Father, and My God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene came, announcing to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord,” and that He had said these things to her.

Paul wrote to the church in Corinth:

Now if Christ is preached, that He has been raised from the dead, how do some among you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, not even Christ has been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is vain, your faith also is vain. Moreover we are even found to be false witnesses of God, because we testified against God that He raised Christ, whom He did not raise, if in fact the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, your faith is worthless; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If we have hoped in Christ in this life only, we are of all men most to be pitied. But now Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who are asleep. For since by a man came death, by a man also came the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ all will be made alive.

Christ is risen! Happy Easter. May God bless you this day.

(Top image from a 2007 performance of the Turramurra Passion in Australia – no, I have not been. The texts are from the Gospel of John, chapter 20:1-18, and 1st Corinthians, chapter 15:12-22, New American Standard version.)

fear & trembling

tell me of the fear
for I know it too
I know the darkness intimately
and the open doors
and the thresholds
and the infinite expanse
though I know only so much

remind me of the trembling
but I know that too
the shaking in my boots
the falling on my face
hoping against hope
wanting, wanting, wanting
I so know that call
for it embraces me

this is where I do theology
I begin with both weeping
and self satisfaction
I end with inheritances
and more weeping

that is how I know
the heart is a place
(could be at dusk or dawn)
where I saw
the branches bending
in the wind
but I could not see the wind

tell me, friend,
of the darkness
at midday
(for I believe that too)
when the graves opened
and the dead walked in Jerusalem
when the earth shook
and the holy of holies opened
to the world

tell me all that again
for here I am
walking in streams
standing on shoulders
crawling in corners
wavering in doorways
wandering back roads
and all I have left
is knowing that maybe I too
saw the sky go dark
and felt the earth move

>Happy Birthday Frances Perkins

>

Frances Perkins is one of the many great women that have helped shape this country. I believe she could be a good example for my daughters. She was the first woman appointed to the U.S. Cabinet and served as U.S. Secretary of Labor from 1933 to 1945.

Here’s a short news piece on Ms. Perkins on Democracy Now. It starts with the voice of Frances Perkins as she talks about her witnessing the infamous Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire.

Good Friday

Today is a day of sober remembering. It is also a day of greatest thanks.

Pilate saith unto them, What then shall I do unto Jesus who is called Christ? They all say, Let him be crucified. And he said, Why, what evil hath he done? But they cried out exceedingly, saying, Let him be crucified. So when Pilate saw that he prevailed nothing, but rather that a tumult was arising, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this righteous man; see ye to it. And all the people answered and said, His blood be on us, and on our children.


The Procession to Calvary
Pieter Bruegel the Elder, 1564

Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the Praetorium, and gathered unto him the whole band. And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. And they platted a crown of thorns and put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand; and they kneeled down before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And they spat upon him, and took the reed and smote him on the head. And when they had mocked him, they took off from him the robe, and put on him his garments, and led him away to crucify him.

Later…

And Jesus cried again with a loud voice, and yielded up his spirit. And behold, the veil of the temple was rent in two from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake; and the rocks were rent; and the tombs were opened; and many bodies of the saints that had fallen asleep were raised; and coming forth out of the tombs after his resurrection they entered into the holy city and appeared unto many. Now the centurion, and they that were with him watching Jesus, when they saw the earthquake, and the things that were done, feared exceedingly, saying, Truly this was the Son of God.

May God bless you today. Have a good Good Friday.

(Bible passages from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 27, American Standard Version.)

two years old

ranging left and right
there and here
backyard and front
she whoops and hollers
eyes bright
and curls bright in the sun
she runs like a native of the earth
potting soil liberally smeared
head to toe

and here I am
home from work
entering another work
a greater work
and everyday I am home
dropping my bags
shoes off
coat hung
in from the wilderness

then like a pilgrim
tired from fasting
at the threshold of the shrine
I am quietly overcome
with the unalloyed joy
of her running around

>3 poems by Billy Collins

>http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docid=9091439651255281857&hl=en&fs=true

I post this because this is National Poetry Month.

>crossing the sky

>Crossing the sky
we walk together
as though floating
across dark waters,
with dogs running
in the stars,
and gods, suspended
like liquid crystals,
and again
like mirrors.

Our footprints tracing
passions,
our progress marking
out rhythms,
now mixing
with decaying flesh,
now fading
below cliffs
looming over us
like unconfessed sins
in the half-light.

We are
only shadow figures,
our dim movements remind me
of smoke in a twilight orchard
dissipating among the branches,
or the non-substance
of memories
and empty hands
calling us back.
And in those memories
we too are suspended
like crystals, shining
in the quiet ether,
with the ocean,
invisible,
always on our left.

So here in the very midst,
like apparitions
intersecting heavens,
carrying hearts
like precious jewels,
we advance through the darkness,
across the sand,
nearer now
to the infinite
and the end of time,
nearer now
to perfection
and final chapters,
holding out for the
immeasurable.

That’s what I thought about it,
About walking, and dogs along the beach,
and friends with shimmering sand
reflecting beneath the brilliant stars above,
and how we talked of dreams with eternity
in our hearts calling us away, and how
the ocean seemed to reflect a part of God
that was unknowable, and about how small
we really are compared to everything else,
and how much we really need each other.
Anyway, that’s what I’d say
if you asked me.

I wrote this poem in 1998. I repost it here for National Poetry Month and to remember a great weekend with good friends at the Oregon coast.