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The Harrowing of Hell Here is George Mackay Brown, poet of Orkney, in his poem entitled “The Harrowing of Hell:”
He went down the first step.
His lantern shone like the morning star.
Down and round he went
Clothed in his five wounds.
Six steps follow:
on second he meets Solomon;
third David;
fourth Joseph;
fifth Jacob;
sixth Abel
On the seventh step down
The tall primal dust [Adam]
Turned with a cry from digging and delving.
“Tomorrow,” ends the poem,
On the seventh step down
The tall primal dust [Adam]
Turned with a cry from digging and delving.
“Tomorrow,” ends the poem,
“the Son of Man will walk in a garden
Through drifts of apple-blossom.”
Through drifts of apple-blossom.”
(“The Harrowing of Hell,” in Northern Lights [London: John Murray, 1999], 24.)
posted by John David Walt | at 4/11/2009 03:01:00 AM
| 0 comments
Friday, April 06, 2007
FARMStrong Good Friday Offering Mystery's handles
seek hiding in Light
flickering candles
bearing ancient night
transporting the senses
through history's veil
focusing lenses
deencrypt time's brail
rescripting a Story
unnerving the grave
refashioned Glory
played out in the nave
poet's note: Last evening I accompanied my mom and dad to the Maundy Thursday worship service at our local First United here in the Big D (dumas, arkansas). We'll give a Tornado alley update later. It was a good night yet I found myself both engaged and disengaged through the service-- mostly the latter. As a way of staying engaged and attentive I turned to poetry as I often do these days. Ritual will do one of two things. It will either distance us from the mystery or usher us more deeply inside it. What makes the difference?
In retrospect, most of it was a religious program. Though filled with ritualistic accuracy, the service lacked congregational engagement. However, looking at my work above, I would have to admit I was engaged. Regardless, I don't mean to critique unduly here. I loved it. For me, the most engaging moment happened when the preacher did something I have never seen done before. As he was turning to extinguish the Christ Candle, the last light in the room, he took his snuffer and slowly pointed it around the sanctuary in a 360 degree circle, literally making eye contact with everyone in the room and then pointed it to himself before snuffing out the light. We departed in darkness.
Labels: good friday, poetry, tridium, worship
posted by John David Walt | at 4/06/2007 12:05:00 PM | 3 comments
Today...