Shadows

Linda Bennett

Shadows

And if tonight my soul may find her peace
in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,
and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower
then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.

And if, as weeks go round, in the dark of the moon
my spirit darkens and goes out, and soft strange gloom
pervades my movements and my thoughts and words
then I shall know that I am walking still
with God, we are close together now the moon’s in shadow.

And if, as autumn deepens and darkens
I feel the pain of falling leaves, and stems that break in storms
and trouble and dissolution and distress
and then the softness of deep shadows folding,
folding around my soul and spirit, around my lips
so sweet, like a swoon, or more like the drowse of a low, sad song
singing darker than the nightingale, on, on to the solstice
and the silence of short days, the silence of the year, the shadow,
then I shall know that my life is moving still
with the dark earth, and drenched
with the deep oblivion of earth’s lapse and renewal.

And if, in the changing phases of man’s life
I fall in sickness and in misery
my wrists seem broken and my heart seems dead
and strength is gone, and my life
is only the leavings of a life:

and still, among it all, snatches of lovely oblivion, and snatches of renewal
odd, wintry flowers upon the withered stem, yet new, strange flowers
such as my life has not brought forth before, new blossoms of me

then I must know that still
I am in the hands of the unknown God,
he is breaking me down to his own oblivion
to send me forth on a new morning, a new man.

 

D.H. Lawrence

 

 "...then I shall know that I am walking still/ with God we are close together now.."

There are so many distractions and stresses, there always have been - coming in from in so many directions. These days I look for the constants, the things that don't change. I find so much comfort there. Like the speaker in this poem, I go to sleep at night committing my existence into the hands of the God I trust with everything. The God who remains Himself no matter what dark cloud I find myself under, no matter what I don't know and can't control. The God who knows me fully and loves me entirely and who is able (and willing) to re-create me, transform me, lift me up beyond cloud or circumstance. The God with whom all good things are possible. "

"New blossoms of me." for instance, 

"strange flowers such as my life has not brought forth before."

 

 

The Debtor

Mark Powell

The Debtor

I am debtor to all, to all am I bounden,
Fellowman and beast, season and solstice, darkness and light,
And life and death. On the backs of the dead,
See, I am borne, on lost errands led,
By spent harvests nourished. Forgotten prayers
To gods forgotten bring blessings upon me.
Rusted arrow and broken bow, look, they preserve me
Here in this place. The never-won stronghold
That sank in the ground as the years into time,
Slowly with all its men steadfast and watching,
Keeps me safe now. The ancient waters
Cleanse me, revive me. Victor and vanquished
Give me their passion, their peace and the field.
The meadows of Lethe shed twilight around me.
The dead in their silences keep me in memory,
Have me in hold. To all I am bounden.


Edwin Muir

Reading Eliot's "Little Gidding"  in the last post, brought "The Debtor" to mind. Where Eliot says "we are born with the dead", Muir says, "On the backs of the dead, see I am borne." Born and borne. Interesting. (And the word "borne" too, has two sides - carried, or bearing something.) Yes, the dead and their discoveries, their accomplishments, lift us up, elevate our life experience. But we also bear the consequences of their mistakes. It's a mixed bag. The speaker seems encouraged and strengthened by the harvests and prayers of the past, but he is nonetheless "held". That word calls up other words - "captive, "constrained". The way he writes, "The meadows of Lethe shed twilight around me. The dead in their silences keep me in memory.", seems to describe someone under a spell. Are we under a spell? Are we lifted up by those who have gone before, or held down? Or both? Is it a debt or an inheritance? Whichever, the poem feels of a quest, a journey - a battle, "Rusted arrow and broken bow, look, they preserve me..."  That sense of testing and being tried, of being half enchanted and half awake, of voices and people from many places and times speaking to us and lending their strength appeals to me. The (past) dead carry us, the present moment engages us, and the future draws us. Maybe "bounden" also means "committed", or "resolved". Perhaps the speaker has come awake, weighed his situation in life, and turned toward it, taking it up, intending to see it through. To see where the story goes. 



 

 

A Northern Morning

Anna Larmoliuk

A Northern Morning

It rained from dawn. The fire died in the night.
I poured hot water on some foreign leaves;
I brought the fire to life. Comfort
spread from the kitchen like a taste of chocolate
through the head-waters of a body,
accompanied by that little-water-music.
The knotted veins of the old house tremble and carry
a louder burden: the audience joining in.

People are peaceful in a world so lavish
with the ingredients of life:
the world of breakfast easy as Tahiti.
But we must leave. Head down in my new coat
I dodge to the High Street conscious of my fellows
damp and sad in their vegetable fibres.
But by the bus-stop I look up: the spring trees
exult in the downpour, radiant, clean for hours:
This is the life! This is the only life!

Alistair Elliot



“I brought the fire to life. Comfort spread from the kitchen.” This brings up old memories. How I would hear my mother lighting kindling in the kitchen stove. Waiting under the covers as the rooms slowly warmed. The sound of pots and pans rattling as she set about making breakfast. The kettle singing on the stovetop. Yes, comfort spread from the kitchen. From my mother’s presence and movements. This poem brings it all back. “A world so lavish with the ingredients of life.” I like that word “ingredients”, as if life were a meal. As if the world were composed like a recipe. And then the trees! Exulting in the spring rain – radiant. The way Elliot brings these words and images together, their placement and flavour - stirs up joy.