I
think I have bewailed annually the difficulty in finding good Easter poetry beyond a handful of
familiar pieces. The problem isn’t a
shortage of verse—there is an avalanche
of the stuff out there—it is a dearth of quality. Much does not rise above clumsy greeting card sentiment, a lot is silly
stuff for kids either all bunnies and eggs or fitful attempts to introduce five year olds to the mysteries of resurrection. Worst of all
are poems encrusted with a theology that
makes me choke and want to spit it
out like a bit of gristle.
e. e. cummings |
But
a bit of digging always turns up a gem or two, especially if you wander off well-marked
paths and are ready to see the central event of Christianity through fresh eyes.
Here
are three, very different poets.
e.e. cummings defiantly
abandoned the Unitarianism of his minister father in his youth only to
slyly revisit his father’s faith with fresh eyes in his later years. This poem, from that period, was never
labeled or explicitly identified as an Easter poem, but it plainly seems to be
one.
now the eyes of my eyes are opened
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
– e.e.
cummings
Nicholas Gordon |
On surprise came from a poet named Nicholas Gordon who offers a whole page
of his Easter poems at Easter Poems for Free which
offered several pieces for free use.
Ordinarily such a blanket offer would make me suspicious of quality—free
poetry, pushed by writers desperate for any readers, like me for instance, is
often worth less than the price of admission.
But Gordon fooled me, even when he was using such hackneyed forms as
poems in which the first letter of each line spell out a word. Ordinarily, that is the stuff of a fourth grade writing assignment, but
Gordon showed that any form in skillful hands can be raised to art. He also showed the ability to be subtle, to
take his theme in a muted direction leaving the reader to make connections. Unfortunately I found no information on the
author except that he was born in Albany,
New York in 1940.
Eventually,
the Undeparted Dead
Eventually,
the undeparted dead,
Alive
without, long since gone within,
Shall arise
to feel both love and pain.
There are no
dead that cannot live again.
Even those
long buried shall begin
Rising up towards
tears and rage and need.
—Nicholas Gordon
Having Walked the Tight-Lipped Jersey Streets
Having walked
the tight-lipped Jersey streets,u
A house to
every inward-turning love,
Peaceful,
neat, above all else secure,
Pausing, I am
ravished by their beauty.
Years will
tell the stories of these streets;
Each house,
the joy of its secluded love,
As children
come and go, indulged, secure,
Singed or not
by life's most awesome beauty.
There is no
quarter on these death-strewn streets,
Each house
the scene of terror, pain, and love,
Redeemed
alone by the passion of its beauty.
—Nicholas Gordon
Charles Martin |
Finally,
we have a poet who took a modern unfolding atrocity
that at first glance might seem to have no connection Easter and drew a
fearful connection. Charles Martin, born in 1942 in New York City is a highly regarded Catholic poet identified with the new formalist movement. He
currently teaches at the City University
of New York, Syracuse University,
and the Stonecoast MFA Program at the
University of Southern Maine. He has
received several honors for his collections of poetry including Steal
the Bacon in1987, What the Darkness Proposes in 1996, and Starting from Sleep: New and
Selected Poems in 2002. Martin
is also the translator of Latin poetry,
including the award winning Ovid’s Metamorphoses He has been
nominated for the Pulitzer Prize in
Poetry and was the poet in residence
at the Cathedral of Saint John the
Divine in New York City from 2005–2009.
Easter Sunday, 1985
To
take steps toward the reappearance alive of the disappeared is a subversive
act, and measures will be adopted to deal with it.
—General Oscar
Mejia Victores,
President of
Guatemala
In the Palace of
the President this morning,
The General is
gripped by the suspicion
That those who
were disappeared will be returning
In a subversive
act of resurrection.
Why do you
worry? The disappeared can never
Be brought back
from wherever they were taken;
The age of
miracles is gone forever;
These are not
sleeping, nor will they awaken.
And if some tell
you Christ once reappeared
Alive, one
Easter morning, that he was seen—
Give them the
lie, for who today can find him?
He is perhaps
with those who were disappeared,
Broken and
killed, flung into some ravine
With his arms
safely wired up behind him.
—Charles
Martin
From Starting from Sleep: New and Selected Poems
by Charles Martin. Copyright © 2002 by Charles Martin
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