Some hands hold their stories tight; others hold them open, to say, Here I came when the war was done, or, Here I lost my mother. Hands cupped like hearts line the street; stories filling houses beat. Old street names speak of sheaves of wheat; some go out weeping, some sing, some, sleeping, dream ofContinue reading “Wheatsheaf (Glenroy Lent #3)”
Author Archives: Matthew Pullar
Wednesday’s Colours (Glenroy Lent #2)
Fire is the colour of the eastbound sun lighting the face of the dusty sky. Ash is the colour of this roadwork black, of tarmac where the plane lost flight. Red is the colour of the traffic light, gold the colour in the new day’s eye, and ash to ash is this road we drive;Continue reading “Wednesday’s Colours (Glenroy Lent #2)”
Glenroy Lent: Long Shrift
Suburb has its own time. Nestled just beneath city’s scheduled view, it sits when city runs. It holds deep memories and secrets, left in garages, holds hopes in council offices. Roadwork punctuates the day’s first lines. Promises in orange signs declare: something soon is happening. Prepare. You may have left your lunch behind, may haveContinue reading “Glenroy Lent: Long Shrift”
In Transit
…lucky to be leafless: Deciduous reminder to let go. (Eugene Peterson, “Blessed are the poor in spirit”) Lost in auto-pilot, I find myself, false turn on false turn, circling in this airport country where lanes diverge to let the suitcase-laden taxi-bound find ways to cities, and ways away. A loop, and again I am whereContinue reading “In Transit”
“The thick darkness where God was”
This is what must first be given to the painting, a harmonious warmth, an abyss into which the eye sinks, a voiceless germination… (Paul Cézanne) How often is he shown with those horns of light, as though his head were itself full of the brightest luminescence and two cracks, two holes had formed inside his skullContinue reading ““The thick darkness where God was””
“You are God’s field, God’s building”
Good news. He also works in earthy things: not only stars but soil and grass, carves churches from stone souls, makes mud-houses whole, and knows the ways a seed must break. Good news that maimed bodies are his building, that the one-eyed, the lame, may be fed in his field, good news that his isContinue reading ““You are God’s field, God’s building” “
“A catholic taste,” she said
and I nodded, not knowing at all what she meant, for I was not, nor have ever been, Catholic. How then, I wondered, was my reading taste catholic? The word, at the time, meant Mary and popes, not expansive, far-reaching, inclusive. Now I give my old teacher’s words new meaning: yes, catholic in reading, inContinue reading ““A catholic taste,” she said”
“With pen in hand”
The fact that a work of such unperturbed objectivity and such deep, radiating peace could grow from a life which, far from being untroubled, consumed itself in strife, gives us an insight into the special quality of the man. (Josef Pieper, The Silence of St Thomas) The branch is not the root system. When youContinue reading ““With pen in hand””
Advance
We also came across the seas, my people: Romans, Vikings, colonials, the lot of them, convicts and scoundrels, emperors and ne’er-do-wells. They came and they saw, they usurped, or were sent. You came like us, to this lucky country. You came in hope. We take it from you. We also heard of the boundless plains;Continue reading “Advance”
Resolution: No Clutter
Too fidgety the mind’s compass (R.S. Thomas, “Adam Tempted”) I pile books on books and thought on thought. I pile obligation onto guilt, and duty onto resignation. This is panic in my breath and limbs tingling with the pace of things. There is no end, the wise teacher said, to all flesh-weariness of thought. IContinue reading “Resolution: No Clutter”
The Consolations of Writing 