Poetry

 Poetry is an attempt to convey a reality that the poet has in some way experienced by attempting to capture its totality through metaphor. In such an endeavor, metaphorical language demonstrates superiority over mere descriptive language by incorporating both meaning and ambiguity (allowing for the poet to communicate the perceived and the intuited, the “seen” and “unseen” of reality). Novalis said, "Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason." The holistic experience of reality that metaphor engenders gives a poem its special texture, sometimes referred to as “mood,” that unique combination of sign and feeling. But feeling in this case refers to more than what is ordinarily understood as “feelings”; it is a kind of intuitional intersubjectivity and remains on the boundary of the expressed and the inexpressible by its very nature. That is why a poem will be understood in a number of different ways, depending on the mindset of the reader. The poet and the reader will inevitably have distinct experiences of the poem as well. But this does not mean that either experience is invalid. This “tension between congruence and incongruence” (Paul Ricoeur, The Metaphorical Process as Cognition, Imagination, and Feeling) is at the heart of metaphor, as it is at the heart of our conscious perception of totality. All art entails perceptual distortion by both artist and aesthete. But the metaphor, by its allusiveness and ambiguity, goes beyond this distortion to create in the reader a combination of experience and insight. All this has been expressed better and more clearly by others, but it is very much at the heart of my interest in poetry.

Grace

 

When the indivisible Trinity willed eternally and undividedly the existence of beings able to receive God, to have part in his delight, gladness, peace, joy, then the Trinity created from nothing the rational mind made in God’s image. The very fact of creation from nothing, the truth of—as I’ve already mentioned—God’s perfectly gratuitous generosity makes nonsense of the notion that some have had of a certain compulsion inherent in his nature that could not be put to rest. Creation certainly is an effect of his natural goodness, but only because he wills it. Blessed, no less, the Being that demands doing good. Does not he who is compelled to do the good deeds demanded by the goodness of his own nature do them gratuitously and freely?

                                                                               --Blessed Isaac of Stella, 8^th Sermon for Sexagesima

 

By recognizing the gratuitousness of our coming into existence, we can we understand the fullness of God’s creative love. By knowing that our existence is a totally free and gratuitous act of God, we can begin to appreciate that we are complete only in God; that we are destined only for God; that we need nothing but God.

Typos

A poem of mine that recently appeared in an online journal contained a rather glaring typo—for some reason the editors misspelled my name in both the table of contents and on the page where the piece appeared. Oddly enough, my name was spelled correctly in the accompanying bio. I went back and checked all the documents I had submitted through their submission system, as well as an electronic contract that they had asked me to fill out and sign.  My name was spelled correctly on everything.

     I have had several pieces published both on-line and in print over the years that contained typos, but this seems to be occurring with increasing frequency of late. In a couple of cases, I actually submitted something with a typo in it and it was accepted without the editor noticing the typo before it was published. On another occasion, I discovered a typo in the original manuscript after it was submitted and accepted. I notified the editor who was working on the piece, and she thanked me for bringing it to her attention and assured me that it would be corrected before publication. It wasn’t.

     Recently, what I have found to be even more common are typos introduced by the editors themselves during editing (things like substituting a homophone for a word that I used properly, changing punctuation or italics but not taking out the original ones, improper capitalization or removal of diacritics [especially in Spanish phrases], and simply leaving out a word or line). Typos in a piece of writing are hardly something to get upset about, considering the many other things that I deal with in daily life, and especially bearing in mind the state of the world at large. As my mother used to say, “What does it matter in the light of eternity?” I only wish to comment on the proliferation of typos in published work (especially on-line) in the hope that editors might be more aware of it—not to say that most aren’t already aware—and to consider always taking the extra step of giving contributors an opportunity to proofread their work before it is published. This isn’t a perfect solution, but it is a good tool to catch those minor errors that can slip past a busy editor’s eyes, especially things like having one’s name misspelled.

(Update: After a little back and forth with the editors, the misspelling of my name that originally occasioned this post was eventually—and fully—corrected by them, which I am sincerely grateful for.)

Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe

 

I recently went through a situation where I was trying to correct a mistake I had made that threatened to seriously impact the life and health of an innocent third person. Making it right involved dealing with several bureaucratic nightmares, and I experienced an enormous amount of frustration and anxiety. I felt that I had to fix the situation by hook or by crook—I had, after all, caused it by my carelessness—and it meant plenty of complaining on my part, a shortage of kindness and patience, and a basic neglect of trust in God.

     As I reflected today on a particular incident in that beautiful account of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the Nican Mopohua, I was reminded of this moral lapse on my part, basically the result of a lack of faith. I thought about Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin, who received the visions of the Virgin of Guadalupe, and who, after failing twice to convince the bishop of Mexico of the reality of his visions, was to meet with her and receive a sign from her that the bishop had requested as proof of the genuineness of Juan’s visions. In the story, Juan’s uncle falls ill before this all-important meeting, and believing that his uncle is dying, Juan sets out to a nearby town to fetch a priest who can give his uncle the Last Rites. He doesn’t want to be delayed, so he deliberately attempts to avoid running into the Virgin by traveling on the opposite side of the hill where he was supposed to meet her. Rather than simply going to her, as he had already promised, and asking for her help, he thinks that he should handle the situation with his uncle by himself, depending on his own efforts. Of course, the Virgin Mary meets him on the detour, and she gently reproves him, assuring him in a most loving way that she is his Mother, and he is always under her care and protection. She tells him that his uncle is cured of his illness, and she gives him the sign to take to the bishop, which proves to be greater than anything he or the bishop expected. Although Juan thought he was doing the right thing by trying to hurry and obtain a priest before his uncle died, it led him to neglect the person who could most help his uncle. But the Virgin Mary comes to his and his uncle’s aid despite his lack of faith in her, as her love is greater than Juan’s folly. I, too, in times of trouble, need to remember that Mary’s intercession is more powerful than anything I can do on my own. That is not to say that I was wrong in trying to fix the situation I had created, but if I had just trusted and had faith and acted in a more considerate and patient manner through it all, the positive results (which were, like everything I have ever received in other seemingly hopeless situations, a clear gift of God) would have been achieved with greater peace in my heart and without so much regrettable behavior.

     Because God loves us, he gives us his mother to protect and care for us, and all we need to do is to trust in that love in all our trials and tribulations.

“The Holiest Words Went With the Most Hating Blow”

The moon at length approached the forest, and came slowly into it: with her first gleam the noises increased to a deafening uproar, and I began to see dim shapes about me. As she ascended and grew brighter, the noises became yet louder, and the shapes clearer. A furious battle was raging around me. Wild cries and roars of rage, shock of onset, struggle prolonged, all mingled with words articulate, surged in my ears. Curses and credos, snarls and sneers, laughter and mockery, sacred names and howls of hate, came huddling in chaotic interpenetration. Skeletons and phantoms fought in maddest confusion. Swords swept through the phantoms: they only shivered. Maces crashed on the skeletons, shattering them hideously: not one fell or ceased to fight, so long as a single joint held two bones together. Bones of men and horses lay scattered and heaped; grinding and crunching them under foot fought the skeletons. Everywhere charged the bone-gaunt white steeds; everywhere on foot or on wind-blown misty battle-horses, raged and ravened and raved the indestructible spectres; weapons and hoofs clashed and crushed; while skeleton jaws and phantom-throats swelled the deafening tumult with the war-cry of every opinion, bad or good, that had bred strife, injustice, cruelty in any world. The holiest words went with the most hating blow. Lie-distorted truths flew hurtling in the wind of javelins and bones. Every moment some one would turn against his comrades, and fight more wildly than before, THE TRUTH! THE TRUTH! still his cry.

                                                                                  --George MacDonald, Lilith

 

 Like the skeletons and phantoms of the Evil Wood that battle night after night in George MacDonald’s novel, Lilith, so many people find a way to distort Jesus’ message of universal love and peace into a message of hate and violence. And the same is often true of the messages of other prophets and religious leaders. Indeed, religion, philosophy, political ideals, and national pride have been used continually to promote animosity and prejudice toward others. "The holiest words . . . with the most hating blow." But what does Jesus actually say: “Love one another.” (John 13:34)

Wonder

 

Yesterday, a group of burrowing owls who have made their home in a large hole near a seldom-used path flew off just as we walked by at dusk. One bird stood watching like a sentry until we passed, and then returned to the hole. The sky was filled with the indescribable colors of dusk. Bird, sky, and hole in the earth.

     A little farther along, the footprints of a mountain lion driven out of the mountains by drought. Resilient nature. Unless someone with a gun comes along.

     Meanwhile, I spend hours scribbling a few words and afterwards revise them repeatedly. Occasionally, my words occupy space in some literary journal. And I wonder: am I taking a place on the page that should go to someone more deserving?

World Bee Day 2023

 The bee is more honored than other animals, not because she labors, but because she labors for others.

         --St. John Chrysostom

 https://www.fao.org/world-bee-day/en