Category Archives: Poetry

Poetry

O might those sighs and tears return again

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O might those sighs and tears return again
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
That I might in this holy discontent
Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain;
In mine Idolatry what showers of rain
Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent!
That sufferance was my sin; now I repent;
‘Cause I did suffer I must suffer pain.

Th’ hydropic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud
Have the remembrance of past joys for relief
Of comming ills. To (poor) me is allowed
No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been
Th’ effect and cause, the punishment and sin.

John Donne, Holy Sonnet III

Photo by Liv Bruce on Unsplash

Authors, Poetry

Dickinson: Poetic Leadership

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Emily Dickinson

Roger Lundin, the Blanchard Professor of English at Wheaton College, talks about the poetic language of leadership.



“Q: You describe Emily Dickinson’s work as part of a stereotypically Protestant move away from talking about God with regard to external things toward focusing on internal things. Do you think the move toward looking for God internally is related to a modern distrust for institutions?”

Lundin replies:

It has to do with something that Alexis de Tocqueville wrote almost 200 years ago in “Democracy in America.” He said that the American is either occupied with a very puny and insignificant thing, i.e. himself, or with some vast subject: nature, society, God, the universe. He said the space between that small thing and that vast other is empty. Democracy drives people to an intensely inward focus. It looks at the outside world as this vast, indifferent other. That space between [the insignificant and the vast subjects] is mediating life: it’s churches, schools, politics and social communities.

People who lead well are often people who have done that intense interior work, but you’re never effective in public leadership if you’re constantly reflecting and constantly, in a sense, absenting yourself. Thoreau said in “Walden,” “I’m aware of myself in a double sense.” He said, “I am both an actor in the human drama, and the one who stands back and observes myself and others in action, so that I’m both in the stream of life and standing outside of the stream of life.”

Poetry

Congratulations to Ashley Anna McHugh

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Congratulations to Ashley Anna McHugh for winning “the tenth annual New Criterion Poetry Prize, for a book length manuscript of poems that pay close attention to form.”

Here’s a good poem of her’s called “Shepherd Road.” It’s beautiful.

I believe she maintains this blog, Last Year’s Almanac.

Poetry

Longfellow's Weariness

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O little feet! that such long years

Must wander on through hopes and fears,

Must ache and bleed beneath your load;

I, nearer to the wayside inn

Where toil shall cease and rest begin,

Am weary, thinking of your road!

O little hands! that, weak or strong,

Have still to serve or rule so long,

Have still so long to give or ask;

I, who so much with book and pen

Have toiled among my fellow-men,

Am weary, thinking of your task.

O little hearts! that throb and beat

With such impatient, feverish heat,

Such limitless and strong desires;

Mine that so long has glowed and burned,

With passions into ashes turned

Now covers and conceals its fires.

O little souls! as pure and white

And crystalline as rays of light

Direct from heaven, their source divine;

Refracted through the mist of years,

How red my setting sun appears,

How lurid looks this soul of mine!

“Weariness” by H.W. Longfellow

Authors, Poetry

Passing Muster with the Hard Things

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Poet Kay Ryan says, “Well, there are a lot of things that I deep six right away. Most things I write don’t pass muster.” Patrick Kurp quotes her in this post and talks about one of her beautiful poems, “Things Shouldn’t Be So Hard.” (This second link goes to a PBS post about that book of poetry.)

Music, Poetry, Religion

A couple Christmas carols

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I have another Sissel clip for you tonight! Amazing! What are the odds?

I used to do this one myself, as a solo, back when I sang. It always meant a lot to me.

I think I saw Sissel in this dress the first time I heard her live in Minot. So this is probably the same year. And the hair looks right.



As is my wont, I’ll give you a Christmas poem by G. K. Chesterton. (It’s odd, but I’ve never found any poet, no matter how great, who did Christmas better than he.)

A Christmas Carol

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap,

His hair was like a light.

(O weary, weary were the world,

But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast,

His hair was like a star.

(O stern and cunning are the kings,

But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s heart,

His hair was like a fire.

(O weary, weary is the world,

But here the world’s desire.)

The Christ-child stood at Mary’s knee,

His hair was like a crown,

And all the flowers looked up at Him,

And all the stars looked down.

A blessed Christmas to you and yours.

Poetry

“Verses upon the Burning of our House” by Anne Bradstreet

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In silent night when rest I took,

For sorrow near I did not look,

I waken’d was with thund’ring noise

And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.

That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,”

Let no man know is my Desire.

I starting up, the light did spy,

And to my God my heart did cry

To straighten me in my Distress

And not to leave me succourless.

Then coming out, behold a space

The flame consume my dwelling place.

And when I could no longer look,

I blest his grace that gave and took,

That laid my goods now in the dust.

Yea, so it was, and so ’twas just. Continue reading “Verses upon the Burning of our House” by Anne Bradstreet →