(Micah 7: 7)
Amid this world of trouble I will wait for
The God of my salvation; He will hear me
Although the turbulence may not abate for
A moment in His goodness He will cheer me.
I rest upon His promise and His favour
Since He has told me that He will be near me:
He is my Rock, although I flinch and waver.
Tottering forth she would have found
New lands to conquer every day;
And reaping in her fields of play
Have set her feet on firmer ground.
She would have brought her faculties
Within her ego's vassalage;
Like tropes deployed upon a page
She would have been her personal traits.
But, like us, going her own way
She would have trudged the wilderness
Till met by One intent to bless
Who bent her heart and knees to pray.
And as a shepherdess her skill
Might have secured her little fold:
Her fable was more briefly told,
Since this desire was not God's will.
See https://dcbverse.blogspot.com/2017/07/marina-i.html for the rest of this.
Of the ideal village, such as will inhabit
The world to come? These are the archetypes
Which would dwell there: firstly, the priest,
For I understand that priests on earth
Will officiate again. Then the head man,
To a Scot, the Laird. Under the shepherding
Of these two will be the ploughman or peasant,
Garnering abundance; the shepherd or fisher,
Folding abundance; and the soldier or sailor,
Wars now over, pensioner of the abundance.
There will be the pilgrim, the village’s journeyer
To Jerusalem – for the nations will flow to it.
Finally the poet, or psalmist, or bard.
From this developed the custom of testing
Persons against the archetypes. King David
Or King Charles, James Graham
Or Jacob – Rosalie, and Marina and me:
We have all been measured against this standard.
And since perfection in manhood is Christ
These have been measured rather against
Him. If He is priest we have to expand the title
To Great Priest, for the quality of His priestliness,
To High Priest, for the dignity of His priesthood,
And for the scope of His service – Minister
Of the holy places. To whom else could belong
The title, Prince of the princes of the Levites!
And He is Lord of all; certainly because
Of who His is in those other dimensions
He is at home in, but because, too,
Of His worth, of His walk and of
His achievements. He has displayed Himself as Sower – but all
Of the landsman’s crafts have correspondence
In the Lord’s activities; but He has exceeded
By graciously broadcasting seed irrespective
Of the quality of the ground.
As shepherd The Good Shepherd has expended His vigour
For us, and deliberately offered Himself;
As the Great Shepherd has forged through death
A path for us; and as Chief Shepherd engaged
Shepherds for our good.
But who is conqueror
Like Christ? That constrictor death, and that
Venomous serpent Satan both dungen:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro!
Someone questioned my referring to Christ
As a pilgrim. To me a pilgrim is a person
With an objective – and who fulfils the description
As fully as Christ? For He came from the heart
Of God to the cross and pioneered for us the path
From the cross to the heart of God.
But what
Of psalmist? Each production of the range
Of poet and hymn-writer from Pentecost -
And the ancient psalmists and prophets – were makars
At the hand of the great Maker.
"To Gislebertus" was a bit of a blog before blogs had begun. Not all of the snippets from it are so positive!
(Written 15 October 1984)
My little daughter, you know no language yet -
Forgive me then while I expatiate
With this new composition didactic verse
Using a style I've borrowed from Old French.
It's no new wisdom which I have to dispense
But you may find it's helpful none the less.
Your life is an adventure and you'll explore
Though you may not wander from pole to pole.
Never, my daughter, repose in what you know
But always be a person who pries and probes -
Through wind and rain, like a keen Viking, row
Until you land on you own Vinland shore.
Plough your own furrow and always plough it straight;
Do not divert to someone else's way;
Broadcast good seed and then, with patience, wait -
Anything good will grow in months, not days;
When it is ripe harvest before the rain
And for the future be generous with you grain.
Allow the time occasionally to wander
Across the hills or by the babbling waters;
Perceive the boredom; the glory and the horror
Within all nature - slow slugs or leaping horses,
Ravenous shrew or deft fish-killing otters.
Let each one halt you and give you cause to ponder.
Fish just to meet your own and other's wants
But not for pleasure - a sport which God abhors.
Both good and evil will come within your trawl:
Discriminate - don't keep and swallow all.
Although winds blow and bucking billows toss
Persist until you can relish what's caught.
To be a poet would do you little good
And whether I would like it I am not sure.
There's poetry in life as you will prove -
In every movement a subtle rhythm moves,
In every word a fertile tension broods;
And every object is image for a mood.
I know that you will never be a queen
- But you must rule within yourself at least;
Only by self-control can you be free.
Be careful not to watch all that you see;
Be careful not to heed all that you hear;
Your heart is the most precious thing that you keep.
Philip had four daughters who prophesied -
If he was fortunate I can't decide!
So, little one, prophesy if you like
But you must pray from your depths to God's height,
Must find the answer to darkness in God's light,
Must find in Jesus the purpose of your life.
My little Rosalie, I'll soon have ended:
I'm sure you think I've been too long already.
To tell the truth you don't seem interested
In being wrapped in archetypal vestments.
I guess it's nearly time that you were bedded,
A so good night and may God add His blessing.
The One by whom the worlds began
Who furnished Earth by what He said
Was found in figure as a Man
Without a place to lay His Head.
By Him on good and worthless ground
The seed, the word of God, was sown
And now for His delight abound
Fruits from good ground for Him alone.
From this world's raging seas He brought
Disciples, sinners born again:
He patiently and gently taught
Till they were also "catching men".
Unending gentleness and care
For those whom men despised as least,
With constant toil for men in prayer,
Displayed perfection of a priest.
And as the perfect Victim too
He met death in the darkest hour,
Emerging as the Victor who
Quelled death and him who had its power.
Ascended high to God's right hand
He sits upon the throne of grace
Acclaimed by all who understand
He has secured their heavenly place.
And as the Chief Musician now
He moves God's service, phrase by phrase,
Touching each harp-string to endow
Eternal, orchestrated praise.
Pre-eminently David was a shepherd:
One with a heart his flock could all rely on.
He was no hireling but prepared to jeopard
His life to fight against the bear or lion
To lead his flock or lead his men to Zion.
But the Good Shepherd, Jesus, supersedes:
In love He suffered and in grace He leads.
Into the valley, humble yet defiant,
Confident in the way Jehovah led,
David went down to battle with the giant:
A skilful sling-stone smote Goliath dead
And David carried off his severed head.
Through greater depths and through exceeding woe
The Lord has quelled a more injurious foe.
Rejected and despised, a wanderer,
David found refuge in Adullam's cave;
And needy souls who gathered to him there
Because their debts were great or needs were grave
Found that he had ability to save:
Christ, who had once no place to lay His head,
Is Saviour now as risen from the dead.
As God's anointed David had dominion
That ranged from the Euphrates to the Sea;
Hundreds of judgments hung on his opinion,
Myriads of minions hung on his decree
While Israel was glorious and free.
But Christ will shoulder just administration
As King of every people, tribe and nation.
To build the house of God was his desire
And under God he was its architect;
It was most worthy that he should aspire
To serve God in a place he would erect
But God refused to give his will effect.
Only through Christ could God acquire a place
To dwell with men in righteousness and grace.
David went in to sit before the ark
To hear Jehovah in complacency;
He laid aside his realm's and household's cark
And heard the promise God had to convey:
Sustained by this he rose and went his way.
But in God's presence our High Priest remains –
All things by love and vigour He sustains.
Whether the waters by his feet were calm
Or he was bruised by torrents of oppression
From each experience David formed a psalm.
He raised a hymn to God through his confession
And found a song as carried through depression.
But Christ now leads a heavenly company
Surrounding Him to praise eternally.
I
I
I
If I have looked at your stooped back
And your tense muscles (naming them thews)
The sunlight blond on your hair
And the green sprouting of your virile crops
Praising them, forgetting the runnels of sweat
Stinking in your armpits, the honed wind
Nailing your skin, the worms of decay
Coursing up through your limbs, loneliness
The hawk hovering over your shoulder
Preparing to stoop, prying, forgive me
I am a man; and remember yourself
That crabbed fingers and rounded shoulders,
Fumes in the lungs, halter on the heart,
Attend your dream. At least my
Dream is noble. Your life is harshness
And your dream luxuriant decay.
II
When I consider the poets I have loved
This I discover is their common element:
Soil. Whether Mackay Brown's patchwork,
Drudgings among stones, furrows pages
To be tuned through station of the year to harvest;
Thomas, amid his peasant parishioners battling
Doggedly against the tilth that bore them,
Longs to absorb them; Heaney's diggings,
Peat embruing to constitute bog people;
Rowe's more exotic peasants stolid
As the tractor mangles their world; or the one
Poem I know of Ogston's celebrating
The crofter's sordid defeat, soil
Is their material. I have enjoyed reading also
Part understood volumes on geomorphology:
Glacier or flood sculpting clay or rock.
Yet there are romantic touches to my
Love of their works for the soil itself
I handle only in a little loved garden:
Not that the peasant loved his land,
A harsh mistress rooting age into his limbs.
Soil, tilth, peat or clay:
This is the word I have shunned: Earth.
III
The vital water, silting and moistening,
Compounds the good ground.
The fecund seed, broadcast on the earth
Clung in the good ground.
The thievish birds jibbed at the nets
Shielding the good ground.
Roots writhed down, toward the procreant water
Imbuing the good ground.
Toward the sun sprouts pullulate
Out from the good ground.
Master, garner the mellow fruit
From your good ground.
