St. George’s Day

St George, patron saint of England, gets buried under bigger beasts today, overshadowed by the Resurrection, Thomas’ affirmation of faith, and the forgiving breath of God.

I thought the least I could do was uncover a 7 year old homily for St. George, though in truth I think it’s more in praise of dragons … and Ursula LeGuin.

1 comment April 23rd, 2006

Poems for the Easter Octave VII

A Letter from Brooklyn

An old lady writes me in a spidery style,
Each character trembling, and I see a veined hand
Pellucid as paper, travelling on a skein
Of such frail thoughts its thread is often broken;
Or else the filament from which a phrase is hung
Dims to my sense, but caught, it shines like steel,
As touch a line and the whole web will feel.
She describes my father, yet I forget her face
More easily than my father’s yearly dying;
Of her I remember small, buttoned boots and the place
She kept in our wooden church on those Sundays
Whenever her strength allowed;
Grey-haired, thin-voiced, perpetually bowed.

“I am Mable Rawlins,” she writes, “and know both your parents”;
He is dead, Miss Rawlins, but God bless your tense:
“Your father was a dutiful, honest,
Faithful, and useful person.”
For such plain praise what fame is recompense?
“A horn-painter, he painted delicately on horn,
He used to sit around the table and paint pictures.”
The peace of God needs nothing to adorn
It, nor glory nor ambition.
“He is twenty-eight years buried,” she writes, “he was called home,
And is, I am sure, doing greater work.”

(more…)

Add comment April 23rd, 2006