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POETRY
Mediterranean Evening
The affectionate air, all whisper and caresses ...
-- San Juan de la Cruz, from Spiritual
Canticle
The air in Leon tonight is the proper degree For
muscles that are strained, for shoulders that carry loads. We have no word
in English for this breath of air, This bien tiempo. Take the soft
breeze of evening Instead of a drink, set your work aside. Greet one
another, listen to music, think. Like exotic fish released into water Of
exactly the correct degree, we are returned home, set free to rejoin our
ancestors. Centuries of struggle against adopted climates are
forgotten. Pick up the load again in the morning. For now Breathe in this
air through which Jesus and Mary, Suliman and Roxelana, Claudius,
Hippocrates and Homer walked in the evening. The very same.
-- Marjorie Kowalski Cole Ester, Alaska
Juxtaposed
In Bethlehem the evening tolling of the bells is interrupted
by gunfire and bombs and terror and once again the curtain is
split in two and all there is is waiting, waiting, until the stone
again is rolled away.
-- Jennifer Gordon Kansas City, Kan.
On A Monastery
On the buttress before me -- A battleground down there
-- I see those creatures Crossing the moat -- Gnomes, sylphs, elves
-- Strange army, strange men. Ladders will do you no good,
Strange men, I say, For I have stones to batter you, Pails of
water, too -- piping hot -- Served by monks, black, Livid with rage At
old Screwtape. But you are not the enemy And I tell you what! Do not
come up to me, I shall come down to you.
I see men standing
here Again (Not in black, I hope) A century or so from now (It
matters little) I hear them say: Boniface built this, Benedict,
Gregory, Rembert; Somebody. Somebody -- with love no doubt.
I
speak out from space -- God knows where -- I say, Come down or
up You see I have no ladder now.
-- Maynard J. Brennan Springdale, Pa.
Theology
I was telling Philip today about what Father Gregory
said how we should live our lives not just as good people but so that
people will see us as a reflection of God. Which is pretty strong
stuff that I dont understand. And he said to me, Yes, and what
if a crazy person saw you as a rabbit?
-- Felicity Frisbie Brooklyn, N.Y.
The First to Know
Judas was the first to know the others the ones who
ran away who hid in cellars or upper rooms their knowledge came much
later and never with the awful clarity that Judas knew when, in that
one darkling moment, he sealed his fate with a kiss
-- John M. Rankin Slingerlands, N.Y.
Clearing the Driveway
Working together, two oldsters, we clear the snow from
the drive. Sharing the task without discussion, so comfortable with each
others presence. Thoughts and understanding pass without
speech.
A comment is like a caress, unnecessary, but rich for
each, an added sharing in the beauty of white snow in sunlight and
warmed muscles working, not young now, but adequate.
This is
wealth indeed, a time out of time to savor. Each aspect holds
beauty: the scent of crisp, clean snow, a shovel handle in my hand,
the pattern of the driveway growing.
-- Barbara Gallagher Columbia, Md.
Poems should be previously unpublished and limited to about 50
lines and preferably typed. Please send poems to NCR POETRY, 115 E.
Armour Blvd., Kansas City MO 64111-1203. Or via e-mail to
poetry@natcath.org or fax (816) 968-2280. Please include your street
address, city, state, zip and daytime telephone number. NCR offers a
small payment for poems we publish, so please include your Social Security
number.
National Catholic Reporter, June 21,
2002
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