(To Departmental Ditties)

I have eaten your bread and salt.
I have drunk your water and wine.
The deaths ye died I have watched beside,
And the lives ye led were mine.

Was there aught that I did not share
In vigil or toil or ease,—
One joy or woe that I did not know,
Dear hearts across the seas?

I have written the tale of our life
For a sheltered people’s mirth,
In jesting guise—but ye are wise,
And ye know what the jest is worth.

by Rudyard Kipling
English poet, novelist,
short-story writer
1865 – 1936

Today’s poetry selection came to my attention as I began to read a novel by George C. Roche III, who wrote much non-fiction.  Kipling’s poem sets the stage for Dr. Roche’s (disguised) memoir, Going Home and I wanted to remember that.

It is always interesting to note what inspires writers, especially two of my favorite.

What poem would you select to introduce your writing?

A Little Bird came to me,

Once of a summer day,
And he told me secrets
from here and there
And some from far away.
How a dewdrop sits on the top
of a rose
And does not roll away,
A little bird told me
Once on a summer day.

A little bird came to me
I think the time was fall.
And he told me secrets
bigger than big,
And none of them were small.
How the leaves turn to yellow
and gold and brown
Before they fall away,
A little bird told to me
Once on an autumn day.

A little bird came to me,
Once on a snowy day,
And he told me secrets
I did not know,
Though why I can not say,
Where little birds go, away
from the snow
For a nice warm place to stay,
A little bird told to me
Once on a winter’s day.

A little bird came to me,
Once on a bright spring day,
And I asked for secrets
of here and now,
And some from far away,
How little vines creep, and
little birds cheep
And little buds burst
From their long winter’s sleep–
These would I have him say.

A little bird looked at me
On this a bright spring day,
And he answered questions
I never asked
But brushed my own away.
“We can not know what’s beyond
the beyond,”
Was what he seemed to say,
As he lifted his wings,
Those bright magical things,
And with them,
he flew away.

Eugenia Talitha Linch
1907 – 1988
Author of  My Flovilla

Illustration by Henriette Browne
“A Girl Writing”
Oil on canvas 

Make no mistake: if He rose at all 
it was as His body; 
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules 
reknit, the amino acids rekindle, 
the Church will fall.

 — after the painting by Diego Velàzquez, ca. 1619

She is the vessels on the table before her:

the copper pot tipped toward us, the white pitcher
clutched in her hand, the black one edged in red
and upside down. Bent over, she is the mortar
and the pestle at rest in the mortar—still angled
in its posture of use. She is the stack of bowls
and the bulb of garlic beside it, the basket hung
by a nail on the wall and the white cloth bundled
in it, the rag in the foreground recalling her hand.
She’s the stain on the wall the size of her shadow—
the color of blood, the shape of a thumb. She is echo
of Jesus at table, framed in the scene behind her:
his white corona, her white cap. Listening, she leans
into what she knows. Light falls on half her face.

by Natasha Trethewey
1966 –

Always thinking ahead, I am posting this poem on Good Friday in anticipation Easter, that celebration of the Resurrection, the resurrected Christ who is featured in the background of this version of Velasquez’s painting. The depiction of the supper at Emmaus has been a popular theme in art since the Renaissance.  As I re-read the story in the latter part of Luke, I found no mention of who prepared the meal.  But we all know someone did.

Poet Trethewey has been on my radar for a couple of years, since she’s from Georgia, an Emory University professor. Although some of her work has been labeled *politically correct*, I find this one suitably current. Remember the recent book-adapted-to-film, The Help?  The movie won several Oscars.  One was for Best Supporting Actress. The plot focused on the work of domestics and what they overheard from the kitchen.  Interesting correlation, no?  

Furthermore, the style of verse found in The Kitchen Maid reminds me of a similar one based on Vermeer’s Woman Holding a Balance, penned by Marilyn McEntyre.  Here’s a link to it.

Back to the point ~

May the blessings from the communion meal we will share in three days be celebrated every Sunday, and not just once a year.

Happy Easter!

Privileged and educated, this 16th century lady in the portrait on the right was involved in religious reform through her dialogue with prominent French figures of Evangelism and the publication of her writings and poetry.

A few years ago my preacher featured her in a sermon.

Now I am participating in an online book club and we’re reading Russell Kirk’s The Roots of American Order.  

So, in addition to my weekly chapter synopsis, I think I will highlight of poem (or portion of a poem) from each chapter/time period.

This week we’re reading about the Renaissance and the Reformation.  Kirk references lots of men, and rightly so.  

But there were a few influential women, like Marguerite d’Angouleme.

The following verse is from her religious poem, Mirror of the Sinful Soul, which was significant enough at the time to draw the attention of the future queen of England (Elizabeth I) who had it translated from French into English.

Since my desire is now to celebrate
Thy triumphs, Word divine, impart to me
Such sweet accords and lofty harmonies
That no defect shall marr my song to Thee.
To sing Thy praises, Lord, is my intent
If by Thy Spirit Thou inspire my pen….
Thus, trusting, Lord, in Thy abundant grace
And knowing Thou wilt guide and lead me on,
I will begin to show the reason why
Thou first didst have compassion on mankind.

Marguerite’s legacy deserves more than a nod.

The Dutch humanist Desiderius Erasmus wrote to her ~

“For a long time I have cherished all the many excellent gifts that God bestowed upon you; prudence worthy of a philosopher; chastity; moderation; piety; an invincible strength of soul, and a marvelous contempt for all the vanities of this world. Who could keep from admiring, in a great king’s sister, such qualities as these, so rare even among the priests and monks?”

Here’s what I had to say about her in 2009.

I’m adding a biography about her to my reading list, although the ones about her daughter, Jeanne d’Albrecht might be more affordable.

Spring has sprung early here in Georgia, but I still have hopes that I can locate one of these service trees that inspired this poet who grew up not to far from where I live. The Bradford Pears (Callery) are particularly aromatic; the neighbor’s apple trees not so much.

We Could Wish Them a Longer Stay

Plum, peach, apple and pear
And the service tree on the hill
Unfold blossom and leaf.
From them comes scented air
As the brotherly petals spill.
Their tenure is bright and brief.

We could wish them a longer stay,
We could wish them a charmed bough
On a hill untouched by the flow
Of consuming time; but they

Are lovelier, dearer now
Because they are soon to go,
Plum, peach, apple and pear
And the service blooms whiter than snow.

                             -Byron Herbert Reece (in Bow Down in Jericho, 1950)

Have you ever seen a service bloom?

Here’s a link to the Georgia Native Plant Society’s page about the Serviceberry.

Here’s a link to a short article about the poem.

Here’s a link to my 2008 selection by Reece.

Here

Instead of counting candles,

Or tallying the years,
Contemplate your blessings now,
As your birthday nears.

Consider special people 
Who love you, and who care,
And others who’ve enriched your life
Just by being there.

Think about the memories
Passing  years can never mar,
Experiences great and small
That have made you who you are

Another year is a happy gift,
So cut your cake, and say,
“Instead of counting birthdays,
I count blessings every day!”

by Joanna Fuchs

Homemade Hummingbird Cake is a Springtime favorite in our family.

Here’s the link to the recipe.

  “It’s what kids once learned a long time ago. . .what this nation
was founded on–morality, memorization of poetry, learning to read
aloud, to do arithmetic, and to do what literate people do in society.”

—Marva Collins.

 “I still don’t see why anyone would ever
          read a poem,”
the young man, student, told us on TV.
Answers came lame, and all the wrong
           protesting ones.

I would have said, why, one would read a poem
for the reason you might watch a cat—
its grace notes curling, stretching, those
            little hairs, sunburst
on haunches, stone-lion-crouched,
the quivering intelligent tail, the eyes,
            marble-miraculous gleaming.

“But what’s the use of it?”

No use. No use in tapping your foot in time
            to tunes,
or driving along, car windows down, wind in your
            hair,
and the smell of river bottoms and plowed fields,
            or even fertilizer.

You’d read a poem to delight the ear and eye,
for something to wonder about,
to take a moment out, to touch what’s real
that you don’t have to; watching flocks
            of small birds wheeling
on sluices of the air we breathe,
or hawk or eagle, plummeting,
or motionless aloft on that same air.

To put a frame around this moment, tape it down
            and get a handle on it.

Like stroking that sweet feline in your lap.

— Harriet Stovall Kelley
(1933 –    )

This poem won The Inez Puckett McEwen Memorial Award, 1989, awarded by the Poetry Society of Texas. 

Photo Credit: “Athena”
Margaret Jordan
Summer 1984 

Kicking off my sixth year of posting a poem-a-day in honor of National Poetry Month, I am pleased that this year April 1st falls on a Sunday and that I can use that as a reason to highlight the best poetry of all – God’s Word.

Four years ago our minister started preaching through the Book of Psalms, one per Sunday. With a few exceptions and maybe one hiatus, we are nearing the finish line.

Today (Palm Sunday) many preachers may have focused on Jesus’s ride on a donkey into Jerusalem, if the congregation follows the church calendar. According to the Gospels there were crowds who gathered to greet the Savior – to honor and praise Him.

Providentially Psalm 135 was our sermon’s text. No specific reference to this triumphal entry, but twenty-one verses of unadulterated adulation where 1)the saints are commanded to praise the LORD (v1-3), 2)the content of that praise is delineated (v4-18), and 3)a concluding call for more praise is issued to all God’s people (v19-21). Here’s the link to the audio version of the sermon.

Hopefully you will consider reading this psalm today. I’m typing out each and every word (not copying and pasting). For me it’s a mnemonic exercise.

Here’s the King James Version for two reasons:

1) the language is more lovely (pleasant vs3) than all other translations, and especially for memorization
2) the KJV recently celebrated it’s four hundredth anniversary (1611 – 2011)

Praise ye the LORD. Praise ye the name of the Lord; praise him, O ye servants of the LORD.
Ye that stand in the house of the LORD, in the courts of the house of our God,
Praise the LORD; for the LORD is good: sing praises unto his name; for it is pleasant.
For the LORD hath chosen Jacob unto himself, and Israel for his peculiar treasure.
For I know that the LORD is great, and that our Lord is above all gods.
Whatsoever the LORD pleased, that he did in heaven, and in earth, in the seas, and all deep places.
He causeth the vapours to ascend from the ends of the earth; he maketh lightnings for the rain; he bringeth the wind out of his treasuries.
Who smote the firstborn of Egypt, both of man and beast.
Who sent tokens and wonders into the midst of thee, O Egypt, upon Pharaoh, and upon all his servants.
Who smote great nations, and slew mighty kings;
Sihon king of the Amorites, and Og king of Bashan, and all the kingdoms of Canaan:
And gave their land for an heritage, an heritage unto Israel his people.
Thy name, O LORD, endureth for ever; and thy memorial, O LORD throughout all generations.
For the LORD will judge his people, and he will repent himself concerning his servants.
The idols of the heathen are silver and gold, the work of men’s hands.
They have mouths, but they speak not; eyes have they, but they see not;
They have ears, but they hear not; neither is there any breath in their mouths.
They they make them are like unto them: so is everyone that trusteth in them.
Bless the LORD, O house of Israel: bless the LORD, O house of Aaron:
Bless the Lord, O house of Levi: ye that fear the LORD, bless the LORD.
Blessed be the LORD out of Zion, which dwelleth at Jerusalem. Praise ye the LORD.

The bulk of this poem (v4-18) centers around what God has accomplished for His people: exactly what should be the content of our praise.