The Consolations of Writing

Catechism 5

What else did God create?
God created all things by his powerful Word, 
and all his creation was very good; 
everything flourished under his loving rule.
(New City Catechism)

Whether plant,
    knowing just where to look for sun,
         where to turn for air,
sea-creatures teeming in the ocean’s whirl,
     birds neither sewing nor harvesting yet
            ever expectant of food and rest,
beasts of the soil, majestic through dust
            lilies content to dance the fields away,

whether sun
     moon or stars, governors of the heavens,
            musicians of the spheres,
whether lofty in the skies or low upon
      the humble soil: all motion and all orbit
             spoken wisely into being.
Good in every way; the rule of it all,
             the knowledge behind each category,

whether grand
      or microscopic, Leviathan or ant:
              good. Made to flourish beneath love’s sceptre,
made to grow on rotating axes,
      light and life to suspire, chlorophyll and DNA
              imbuing shade and tone.
All good, with trust and truth contained in love’s rule:
              to enjoy all of Eden, save one tree.

With January now gone and February just begun, it’s time to farewell Peter Steele and introduce our new poet for the month. Shortly after Father Steele’s death in 2012 I wrote an essay in memory of him, and, although I have read much more of his poetry since then and have come to appreciate it more, it still seems a fitting conclusion to our month of looking at his work here at The Consolations of Writing. So here it is, for those who did not read it at the time.

Also, it’s time for another poet – our second last, in fact. It’s hard to believe that my 12 Poets Project is nearly finished! This month’s poet is something of an Australian literary icon – Les Murray, most famous perhaps for his dorky bushman hat and the preamble he wrote for the Australian Constitution. But he is also a wonderful poet and I look forward to celebrating his work, and the way that his faith informs it, throughout February.

Evening Prayer

The leaves whistle change;
no longer burning, the air
sings a softer tune, and I
wander in the evening street

attuned to change, yet stuck within 
the day's exhaustion, mind empty,
spirit vacant. I lift
my arms to walk, to pray,

the day ahead
uncertain, silent - cooler, but still
not within my arms' reach.
You, my God,

must - if You know the movement
of the breeze, the hows and whys
of trees - also know
the temperature of tomorrow, the

pressure of the air, the way
my spirit will rise 
or fall or flow. Be still,
my soul; the Lord

is on your side.
The day lifts up its arms in
prayer; the curtain of the night
unveils the stars in praise.

Morning Song (After Peter Steele’s “An Ordinary Evening In Kew”)

Time for my last poem for Peter Steele, this one based on his simple and delicate “An Ordinary Evening in Kew”. Less theological than the other poems I have chosen, this one is a wonderful tribute to the simple beauties of God’s gift of life.

Morning Song (After "An Ordinary Evening in Kew")

The Kensington street heats up for public holiday and I
Race the heat down hills, past flats and parklands, through
The lessening leaves that lined last week’s pavement.
Autumn yawns as summer dawns again, and slow the street
Awakes to greet the gift of sunrise without work.
In my ears the swoop of violins, and heartbeat
Growing with each downwards leap. My shins, uncertain,
Hold together for the plummet, though this is rest
Nonetheless: bodies, finite, all the same can sing
And defy the grave, though ever moving to it.
Birds’ music, poetry in movement: common grace
A sign that more than this may soon be allowed.
Welcome, street, and gambol now beside me,
Gravity negating, the dance a dreaming joy.


An Ordinary Evening in Kew - Peter Steele

On the one hand, Dante, and in the other pocket
The man who took his mind and left New Haven
For parts unknown. What were they up to,
The stoutly suited broker of our fortunes,
The burning Florentine? Watching the rain
Descend as if it chose to, giving vent
To laws at once of gravity and mercy,
I'm brought to book by earth's imagination,
The bearing of the trees, exfoliation
Of these most rambling streets, the rise of lights
Captive upon their poles and in my eyes.
Come in, you two: see if you'll make a lodging
An hour at least with the rest who wait inside,
Heads full of dreaming, bodies compelled by time.

(From Peter Steele, White Knight With Beebox: New and Selected Poems, 
John Leonard Press, 2008)

Catechism 4

How and why did God create us?
God created us male and female in his own image 
to know him, love him, live with him, and 
glorify him. And it is right that we who were 
created by God should live to his glory.
(New City Catechism)

Complete in self, yet fitting
      that He should make companions,
as though within Himself He should burst
            with overflowing community;

fitting too that, complex within
      the Godhead, He should make
two so interwoven beings, ribs extracted
            as a sign of eternal togetherness,

rest at first a symbol of our right state
      beneath the breath of our Creator,
dust a sign too: frail, ephemeral, yet easily shaped
            by the plans of sovereign hands.

And when we wake: what a day!
      The Garden prepared for our delight,
the man, the woman, two yet one,
            made to show in micro-form

the grace, the wonder, the banks-bursting flow
      of love and truth, true being, sight!
Made to bow and live and be
            before the God who made.

Crux

Yesterday I posted my own poem written in response to Peter Steele’s heartbreaking “Crux”. Here, as an additional kind of tribute to my old teacher, is a musical setting of the poem that I wrote and recorded. Steele’s words, from his liturgical sequence, “A Season in Retreat”, are included below for you to read as you listen.


Crux (From Peter Steele, “A Season in Retreat”, Marching on Paradise, 1984)
 
                        Seeing you go
Where the dead are bound, and having no resource
To twist those timbers out of their lethal course,
            I want at least to know

                        What I can say
Now that the boasts have blown away and even
The cursing has grown faint, while the pall of heaven
            Abolishes the day.

                        I was never wise
In word or silence, never understood
The killer in my members, thought of good
            As what one might devise

                        From scraps of evil.
How can I learn a way for me or mine
To stand beside you? Vinegar, not wine,
            Is all we give you still.

                        Among the dice
And the dirt, with more of shame than love to show,
All that will come to heart is ‘Do not go
            Alone to Paradise.’

What He Meant (After Peter Steele’s “Crux”)

The third poem written in response to Peter Steele comes from his very moving work, “Crux”, possibly one of his best poems. You can read the original poem here. Like Steele’s poem, mine is written from the perspective of one of Jesus’ followers immediately after His death, and ponders how Jesus’ words may have seemed at that moment.

What He Meant (After "Crux")

                 Where you must go,
     We cannot follow, of course. That is clear,
The look of complete Elsewhere on your face, the sheer
         Desolation of the show

                 Says it all. You said
      As much quite clearly as we dipped herbs and fought
Amongst ourselves, with questions of greatness, retorts
           Against your broken grace.

                 Sponges dipped in wine
      Recall the bread, the cup, and yet the scene,
So far removed from upper rooms, the shattered screen
           Fractures every line

                  We drew in shifting sand.
       Arms ripped out to the side, you know it all.
Your crown, your spear, your heraldry, the scrawl
           Above your throne

                 Hailing you king –
       Such truth, shrouded in irony – demands we wait,
Until the veil’s finally gone. Sentries at the gate,
           The mourners sing.

Autumn Soul

Poor leaves -
gold before the sun is gone,
heat-confused,
your brothers green,
fallen now before your time,
the street lined thick with your mistake -
leaves, lie still and wait.

Last week summer ruled the street;
spring creeps in, winter retreats.
We mourned the heat, we dreamt the dreams
that drove the leaves down to the ground.
Autumn soul, poor autumn soul,
let the seasons pass you by
and rest a while in grace.

Catechism 3

How many persons are there in God?
There are three persons in the one true and 
living God: the Father, the Son, and the 
Holy Spirit. They are the same in substance, 
equal in power and glory.
(New City Catechism)

Plural in the beginning:
Let us make man…
The Divine counsel gathered for this act of image-making.

Son, Word, holding Father’s hand,
Shaping, making, always in union,
Preincarnate, perfect Man forming man;

Spirit, life-breathing,
Animating Adam, resurrecting bones,
Will of Father the constant motivation;

And Father: complete within
Tri-union with Spirit, Son,
Will enacted, embodied, perfected.

And we, somehow, swept into the dance:
I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.
Complexity shatters minds,

And yet: true from the beginning.
Father, Spirit, Son; always complete,
Yet drawing orphans into family.

Catechism 2

Who is God?
God is the creator and sustainer of everyone and
everything. He is eternal, infinite, and 
unchanging in his power and perfection, 
goodness and glory, wisdom, justice and truth. 
Nothing happens except through him and by his 
will. (New City Catechism)

Sufficient, self-giving,
 Never without,
Always unchanging,
 Free and enough.

Contented, completed,
 Never in need,
All-making, all-feeding,
 Rich in each gift.

Beyond comprehension
 And boundaries of time,
Defying our senses,
 Defying our rights.

Abundant, true being,
 Nothing beyond,
Creator, sustainer,
 Our Father, our fill.