Category Archives: poetry

16 January 2019: ‘January’.

snowgapcropped

Sure as new snow,
below,
believe green leaves hide.

Sure as grey skies
we rise
when first they are spied.

Sharp tips awake:
hearts break –
a pain strange and wide,

as hard earth’s pierced
by fierce
green growth from inside.

As sure as ice
new life’s
leaf shoves death aside.

Sure as chill fear
God’s near:
deep down death’s defied.

SJC

‘Deep down death’s defied.’ Thank you Sister Johanna!

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Filed under Daily Reflections, poetry, Spring, winter

January 13: Christ’s interest.

dawn

Mrs Turnstone delights in the fact that on this day, the light of the Sun is first seen in Greenland, the first sign of Spring in the North. When Hopkins lived in North Wales there were no street lights, and anyone moving after nightfall needed a lantern. At least there was peace, and ‘who goes there?’ need not have been spoken in fear.

I am blest that she who goes there is indeed rare, and that ‘Christ minds’ her and me and you, dear reader.

The Lantern Out of Doors by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Sometimes a lantern moves along the night,
That interests our eyes. And who goes there?
I think; where from and bound, I wonder, where,
With, all down darkness wide, his wading light?

Men go by me whom either beauty bright
In mould or mind or what not else makes rare:
They rain against our much-thick and marsh air
Rich beams, till death or distance buys them quite.

Death or distance soon consumes them: wind
What most I may eye after, be in at the end
I cannot, and out of sight is out of mind.

Christ minds: , what to avow or amend
There, éyes them, heart wánts, care haúnts, foot fóllows kínd,
Their ránsom, théir rescue, ánd first, fást, last friénd.

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Filed under Daily Reflections, poetry, Spring, winter

4 January: God’s Grandeur

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Another light on that New Year’s resolution we proposed yesterday.
‘All is seared with trade’: Hopkins did not have to stray far from any Victorian Jesuit house to find trade and industry searing, smearing, smudging the soil. Let us pray for the Holy Spirit to kindle in us a love of Creation that helps us to see what to do – and to do it – to care for all he has made. Laudato Si!
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
    And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

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December 25: Psalm 94 (95) At 3.00 a.m.

Reciting the Invitatory Psalm at 3.00 a.m.

While walking downstairs,

One step at a time,

Slowly …

Oh. so slowly,

. . at three o’clock in the morning,

Come lift up your voice to the Lord!’

Mine in a whisper!

My mind saw the Baby,

Tiny,

Fragile,

Hail the God who made us,

Come before him giving thanks … . ‘

This newborn scrap of weak humanity,

. ‘A mighty God is the Lord,’

So Small!

A great King above all gods,’

So helpless!

In his hands’, …. so small!

Are the depth of the earth,

The heights of the mountains are his,

To him belongs the sea …..’

Come in!’

An invitation.

Let us bow and bend low,’

See, he stirs,

He sucks, He sleeps.

Let us kneel before the God who made us.

He is our God.’

.. how wondrous is the newborn,

Almost transparent in his fragility ….

And we the people that belong to him.’

Oh that we would listen to his voice,

His infant cry ….

Nearly down now,

One more step ….

SPB

Written when recovering from an accident.

Welcome back to Sheila Billingsley! Two more of her poems follow on 27 and 28 of this month, remembering the feasts. But ‘Oh that we would listen to his voice!’ A peaceful Christmas to you all!

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December 23: O Emmanuel Come, so that we may be saved.

dec 23 pic birds in flight

One of the delights of this time of year is to see the starlings gathering. They used to roost in the tall yews in one of the gardens I worked in, up on Barton Hill. If I wasn’t there I would often still see them as they flew over the Canterbury city centre gardens I cared for, or we might meet them as I walked the children home from school.

Thank you for this image, Sister, and for all the good things you have shared with us this week.

Dec 23 – O Emmanuel

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December 22: O King of the nations.

dec22 pic aKing of the Nations! Most nations today do not have kings, or they are shorn of their power and much of their status. Every now and then there is a story of an African prince succeeding to his position as king and giving up work and home in London, Canada or the United States to enter his kingdom. ‘We never knew’, his work colleagues say. May we know our King when he comes.

Over to Sister Johanna. Dec 22 – O Rex Gentium

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December 21: come and shed your light upon those dwelling in darkness.

sunrise.sjc

In a traditionally ordered church the people symbolically face to the East, to the rising sun, symbol of Jesus the risen Lord. Today Sister Johanna leads our Advent reflection on Jesus the rising sun.

Follow the link.  Dec 21 – O Oriens

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December 20: Come, David’s Key

light in dark rainy window

Young Abel takes note of which keys fit in which lock to his grandparents’ house; no doubt it’s the same at home. Keys are important in our daily lives in England. Our ancestors felt the same way of course, and they addressed Jesus as the key of keys: you open what no one can shut, and close what no one can open.

Let’s open our hearts to Sister Johanna’s reflection on the Key of David. click on the link:  Dec 20 – O Clavis David.

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December 17: The Great O Antiphons: Introduction to Sister Johanna’s poems.

 

candle

In the evenings leading up to Christmas Eve, the Roman Catholic Church sings seven special antiphons before and after the Magnificat at Vespers. English speaking Christians know these in the metrical version that starts, ‘O come, O come, Emmanuel.’

Sister Johanna at Minster Abbey has written a poem for each of the antiphons and we are privileged to publish them here. She writes:

 They are shortish poems that meditate on each O Antiphon.  Each  poem is in a different style, sometimes different voice, from the others.  They begin with a heading consisting of the O Antiphon in its original Latin (surely one or two of your readers must be able to de-code the Latin, don’t you think?); then I translate the Antiphon into English.  The poem then follows.  You will see that the poem picks up on one or two aspects of the antiphon that seem to contain the most ‘punch’ but do not attempt to reflect on every aspect of the antiphon.

To preserve the format of each post as Sister intended, I have presented them as pdf files. Just click on the link each day to view the post.

WT

 

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14 December: On fire with all love’s longing.

crosscave2

For the Feast of Saint John of the Cross, here is one of his spiritual songs. This is taken from ‘San Juan de la Cruz Seven Spiritual Poems’, translated by A.S. Kline, available through Project Gutenberg. 

Song of the Soul that Delights in Reaching the Supreme State of perfection, that is, the union with God, by the path of spiritual negation.

Upon a darkened night
on fire with all love’s longing
– O joyful flight! –
I left, none noticing,
my house, in silence, resting.

Secure, devoid of light,
by secret stairway, stealing
– O joyful flight! –
in darkness self-concealing,
my house, in silence, resting.

In the joy of night,
in secret so none saw me,
no object in my sight
no other light to guide me,
but what burned here inside me.

Which solely was my guide,
more surely than noon-glow,
to where he does abide,
one whom I deeply know,
a place where none did show.

O night, my guide!
O night, far kinder than the dawn!
O night that tied
the lover to the loved,
the loved in the lover there transformed!

On my flowering breast,
that breast I kept for him alone,
there he took his rest
while I regaled my own,
in lulling breezes from the cedars blown.

The breeze, from off the tower,
as I sieved through its windings,
with calm hands, that hour,
my neck, in wounding,
left all my senses hanging.

Self abandoned, self forgot,
my face inclined to the beloved one:
all ceased, and I was not,
my cares now left behind, and gone:
there among the lilies all forgotten.

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