Poem: Blind Rector

Bent over to pick the last rose petal
As the workers bend to pick up the last brick
Of the fallen rectory and cart it away. Him

Seeing none of the destruction surrounding,
What happened in the storm, the flood waters
Enmeshing the building, baptizing the edifice

With driftwood and downed wires. He sat
In the bell tower and waited it out, wishing
For once he was deaf and not blind.

He wonders what it would be like to see
Brick by brick this worshipful place
Haphazardly thrown into garbage trucks

He wonders what it would be like to see
Anything other than the coal fire of the Spirit
In the hearts of confessors, to see ashes

Shroud the souls of men, to see the garbage
Fires burning and reeking of sin, to see the
Flaming tongues written on children’s hearts.

Poem: Hiding Beneath White Pines

Thought this poem was appropriate on the eve of the  darkest day of the year. I wrote it about four years ago and stumbled across it recently.

Hiding Beneath White Pines

Away from community,
pondering sunsets.

Only then do planets
Turn about, always returning
As time dies away
Ring by ring
In darkness
Hiding.

Always expanding, the universe
takes life higher—farther,
Exposing those hiding
In gardens once green,
Now tarnished every night:
Same darkness hidden,
Then exposed.

Writing Update: Advent & L.L. Barkat

A couple of months ago I was contacted by Christine Sine, who helps run Mustard Seed Associates, about being a contributor to the Advent devotional they were producing, Waiting for the Light. I readily accepted, and my short essay on Advent is Day 1 in the devotional; quite an honor I think. More honorable than that is the company of other authors on the project: Julie Clawson, Kathy Escobar, Kimberlee Conway Ireton, Ed Cyzweski, JR Woodward, Tim Morey, Jamie Arpin-Ricci, and Tom & Christine Sine. So many of these people are authors I respect, and to be in their company is a really big deal for me.

About the devotional:

Christians of all traditions are discovering the value of taking time in the days that lead up to Christmas to break away from the consumer frenzy of our culture and prepare their hearts and minds for the coming of Christ. This resource responds to this desire. It is more than a devotional, it is a complete guide to the Advent and Christmas season, providing liturgies, weekly activities and daily reflections to equip and nourish us all through the season.

Pre-order before November 15th at the special price of $13 (includes S&H)!

Also published today is my interview with L.L. Barkat on The Other Journal‘s Mediation blog. We discuss her publishing venture, T.S. Poetry Press, and how the world of publishing is changing. An excerpt:

Digital publishing, in the hands of experienced authors who have connections, in the hands of experienced editors who know how to bring a book to print, is changing the game. It can still be Createspace, but when the book arrives to the buyer, she will absolutely know the difference. The quality of the writing, the art, the endorsements will all say this is not vanity; it is something to be regarded.

And because this can be done at a fraction of the cost (without funding warehouses, inventory and royalties systems, fulfillment and distribution), well, the “small” press has much bigger opportunities than ever before.

You can read the rest of the interview here.

And a side note: speaking of L.L. Barkat, her press has an awesome service called Every Day Poems. For $1 a year you get a poem every week day sent to your inbox, curated around rotating themes throughout the year. Today my poem, “October Forth, in Manhattan,” is published in Every Day Poems. To see it and other poems throughout the year for the amazingly low price of $1 just click here to subscribe.

Four Questions With David Wheeler

Engaging with different voices is always important. In blogging it is so easy to concentrate on your own view, and let other views orbit around it. “Four Questions” is a series on Everyday Liturgy which looks to authors & artists to ask them four questions about their craft.

David Wheeler is the author of Contingency Plans and a fair number of essays around the internet. He lives, works and creates in the Seattle area. You can read some of his recent poetry on his site Dave Writes Right and a newly published poem “Through A Glass, Dim but Never Dark” on GENERATE Magazine.

Everyday Liturgy: As a poet, how do you see spirituality or faith influencing your craft?

David: Poetry has a musicality to it that has a rich history in spirituality, liturgy, worship and prayer. It’s meditative to write. In that sense, every poem I write is like a prayer, but that doesn’t mean I feel limited to spiritual, meditative, or even reverent subjects. I do, however, notice its influence on the tone I take, much of the time. Still, a poem of mine like “Your Bright Wounds” is a snide criticism of acting injured, a boy who cried wolf approach to taking things personally, self-indulgence. I don’t think critique like that falls outside the purview of spirituality, especially when self-important injury is an attitude I see so prevalent in religion today.

EL: When I was just starting to write poetry as a high schooler my poetry was highly devotional. It was like George Herbert kind of stuff (in tone and content, definitely not in craft!). I think that reading older poets like Herbert and Hopkins has set the tone that poets of prior generations have filled the blatantly religious poetry category, so to speak. Contemporary poets are urged to be more subtle. Do you find yourself trying being subtle with spiritual aspects in your poetry?

DW: Sure; I strive for subtlety. Not because I feel oppressed by earlier generations’ heavy hands (devotionally, confessionally, formally, etc.) but because one thing sticks with me from writing courses, and that’s Emily Dickinson’s urge to “Tell all the truth but tell it slant.” It’s boring of me to state that I’m, on occasion, dissatisfied with my body. I wish I was less bony, kept better posture, had a fuller beard, had a darker complexion. I’m not distraught; I’m just vain. But for me to truly get across how it is, I write a poem like “On Anatomy & Physiology,” infusing those feelings of ingratitude and vanity with the slanted truth that we are all fearfully and wonderfully made.

EL: Do you think there is a place for more blatantly devotional poetry in the poetry world today?

DW: Certainly. Scott Cairns, for one, is a powerful poet whose devotional poetry is clearly (at least to me) craved by many. And I don’t think we’d be the same without someone like Thomas Merton, who maybe falls more heavily on the devotional side, but is nonetheless a poet. Kathleen Norris, too, when she was publishing more poetry. Even Wendell Berry makes the poetry world spin inside and outside religious circles. There’s clearly a place and desire–Rumi and Hafiz are some of the toughest to keep in stock at the store–but like all poetry, tastes are nuanced. For me, I like Stephen Dunn, and I’m not even aware of his spiritual leanings. [Eds. note: David named three of my favorite authors—Berry, Cairns & Norris—all in one answer. We're tracking here!]

EL: I view the crafts of poetry and prayer as merging or blending together sometimes. How do you see poetry in respect to prayer?

DW: One of my favorite Barbara Kingsolver quotes is this: “When the writer converses privately with her soul in the long dark night, a thousand neighbors are listening in on the party line, taking it personally” (“In Case You Ever Want to Go Home Again,” High Tide in Tucson). I very much agree. Poetry is a type of prayer that lets others pray with you. I keep St. Augustine’s prayer book around my house. Every once in a while, I peek through the liturgy. There’s something about praying other people’s words that opens my soul up to bigger things; I appreciate that I don’t have to spend all my energy thinking of what to say. But in the rare instances I do have something to say, I can’t help but wonder who’s listening in, taking it personally (in a good way).

You can read my review of David’s book of poetry Contingency Plans on Englewood Review of Books as a special preview of their print edition.

Poem: Forty Years Without Fire

Forest unaware it sheds itself
Twig by twig, branch by branch
Gifting vestments to the dust

When dust settles upon car hoods
Rain packs it away to street gutters
As sustenance for the journey to sea

When sea waters beat our reflections
Into mirrors, shatter mirrors into glass,
metamorphoses into puzzle piece shards,

Into shards of glittering sand; then our faces
Become as fragmented as the beachhead.
Heat sponges up water, raptured into rain

When rain falls it animates the forest
Unto breathing, unto light, unto life:
When water dies, the forest survives.

Poem: Psalm 2

Serve the LORD with fear
and rejoice with trembling.
Kiss his son…

Kiss the ground like you would the
grave of a swiftly taken lover―one who
perished scootering  on vacation

or snorkeling for gold doubloons. Like
prostrate  Luther wondering why the
thunderous  hammering god would smite

his scalp and beat on bulging eyes with
verocity, kiss the ground out of sheer fearful
exultation. Bow down to soil our King

Solomon, and look upon thousands of
concubines, the lilies of the field and the
elder trees. Hug your lips around the humus,

mouth moisture between your tongue and
biting teeth, lacerate roots of legumes with
your incisors. Kiss the ground because it is kingly.

Kiss the ground because it is our atomic lover.
Kiss the ground because it is our spiritual act of
worship. Kiss the ground, treasure chest of

corporeal essence. Kiss the god-forsaken
ground because it is our beloved sister death.