we shall have to think up signs,
sketch a landscape, fabricate a plan
on the double page
of day and paper.
Tomorrow, we shall have to invent,
the reality of this world.
-- Octavio Paz, "January First"
|Which poem are you?|
Sonnet 17 by Pablo Neruda
Aw, you're a romantic. You believe in true love and all that sort of stuff. How cute are you? To you, love is incredible and amazing.
That works. Although I was hoping for T.S. Eliot.
Via Proverbial Wife.
by C.S. Lewis
Among the oxen (like an ox I'm slow)
I see glory in the stable grow
Which, with an ox's dullness might at length
Give me an ox's strength.
Among the asses (stubborn I as they)
I see my Savior where I looked for hay;
So may my beastlike folly learn at least
The patience of a beast.
Among the sheep (I like a sheep have strayed)
I watch the manger where my Lord is laid;
Oh that my baa-ing nature would win thence
Some woolly innocence!
by William Butler Yeats
Now at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
A WORD MADE FLESH
by Emily Dickinson
A Word made Flesh is seldom
And tremblingly partook
Nor then perhaps reported
But have I not mistook
Each one of us has tasted
With ecstasies of stealth
The very food debated
To our specific strength --
A Word that breathes distinctly
Has not the power to die
Cohesive as the Spirit
It may expire if He --
"Made Flesh and dwelt among us"
Could condescension be
Like this consent of Language
This loved Philology.
A HYMN ON THE NATIVITY OF MY SAVIOR
by Ben Jonson
I sing the birth, was born tonight,
The author both of life, and light;
The angels so did sound it,
And like the ravished shepherds said,
Who saw the light, and were afraid
Yet searched, and true they found it.
The Son of God, th' Eternal King,
That did us all salvation bring,
And freed the soul from danger;
He whom the whole world could not take,
The Word, which heaven, and earth did make,
Was now laid in a manger.
The Father's wisdom willed it so,
The Son's obedience knew no No,
Both wills were in one stature,
And as that wisdom had decreed,
The Word was now made Flesh indeed,
And took on him our nature.
What comfort by him do we win?
Who made himself the prince of sin,
To make us heirs of glory?
To see this babe, all innocence;
A martyr born in our defence;
Can man forget this story?
I'm going to be spending a lot of time with my family this week, as well as just "taking it easy." I'll post "real" blogs when inspiration strikes, but until then, you'll have to put up with a deluge of Christmas-themed verse. Around this time of the year, I feel especially poetic.
I particularly like the last line of this brief beauty:
by Mary Coleridge
I saw a stable, low and very bare,
A little child in a manger.
The oxen knew him, had Him in their care,
To men He was a stranger.
The safety of the world was lying there,
And the world's danger.