Good golly, what a treasure trove of poetic smithery. I haven't found a line (or even part of a line) that doesn't speak just how it ought, resonant and mastered by meaning. Not a single wasted or filler word. Echoing Tom and Olivia: this is the best I've read from you and full of worship.
I am struck by the militant, martial tone of this piece, and by the--to me, anyhow--slight note of all-too-human impatience. As usual with your work, the language is sumptuous, luxurious. No doubt, ignorant as I am, there is much here that I fail to appreciate. General question: Is there a paradox in writing "devotional" verse, in that the more perfect it is, the more likely you are to exalt yourself and not the God you profess to serve? The term that comes to mind sometimes when I read devotional verse is: gilded humility.
What a great question—certainly there may be some hubris in reframing scripture (who am I?), but I hope this comes off more as a tribute than a replacement. The strident tone, too, is an attempt to reflect and honor the earnestness of the original voice. But the question still stands, at what point is an artist bringing glory to himself by showcasing his own skill instead orienting the praise to its Source? It is one of the main criticisms I have of art from the Renaissance, before which visual artists were rarely the sort of egoistic celebrities of culture they've now become. My love for byzantine iconography derives in part from the irrelevance of the painter and the centrality of what in some sense lies beyond the strange and un-representational imagery. Hence they are "windows into heaven." Can a poem be the same? I will have to think on it.
It's something I've wondered about, but I know it's a question that can seem offensive. Based on what I've read from you here on Substack, you have, along with great knowledge, an easy-going, non-prickly personality, so I figured I'd ask. Of course, for most of us, with the Source dried up, there is no conflict in exclusive devotion to the self. What else is there? Everything I do, I do for the glorification of me. Interesting for me to read that the source of your love for byzantine iconography is partially "the irrelevance of the painter." For me, increasingly, advertising, with its irrelevance of the "author," makes the most sense as the basis for "creative" (the term I prefer is "decorative") writing.
I'm glad you asked—it is good to have one's motives interrogated in such an honest but genial fashion. If there is no Other, no ultimate Source, I suppose you are right that self-aggrandizement (or marketing more generally) may prove the most common motive (even among the ostensibly religious). On the other hand, perhaps that is too pessimistic. Might an artist not in some sense hypostatize Beauty (or the processes through which it is instantiated) and participate thereby in something that transcends himself? It may only "transcend" in the sense that it is not reducible to any given contributor or moment in time; it might only be a psychological trick to invest meaning into what will ultimately prove a quiet and cold lump of space debris; but if it softens even for one instant the wound of existence for even one poor human, has it not been something worth doing?
Your reply has me thinking of some lines from Robert Lowell: "Failure keeps snapping up transcendence,/bubble and bullfrog boating on the surface,/belly lustily lagging three inches lowered--/the insatiable fiction of desire." (It's a bathtub scene.)
I saw a man pursuing the horizon; / Round and round they sped. / I was disturbed at this; / I accosted the man. / “It is futile,” I said, / “You can never —” / “You lie,” he cried, / And ran on.
You mentioned the poetry of Crane to me recently--I think it was you?--and I consequently tracked down quite a bit of it, including the piece you quote. I'm glad to have discovered Crane's "poetry" (not sure that's the right word for his compressed hermetic utterances-- little darts, fluid and in flight). The Lowell is from his book book of sonnets, "The Dolphin." I think it's from a section called the Mermaid? (Not sure.)
This is great, rousing while also restrained. The poetic line as a unit of thought has been used to full effect, there's absolutely no filler. I love everything about this.
Good golly, what a treasure trove of poetic smithery. I haven't found a line (or even part of a line) that doesn't speak just how it ought, resonant and mastered by meaning. Not a single wasted or filler word. Echoing Tom and Olivia: this is the best I've read from you and full of worship.
Wow. Thank you Mark!
Seconding Tom's thoughts; I already said I love this one, but seriously, it's one of the best things you've written yet. :) Really good work.
Very kind! Sonnets seem to come best to me if I have a specific purpose and a limited timeframe. Maybe I need someone giving me assignments. :-)
Beautiful!!
A beautifully crafted meditation on the psalm. I love how Christological it is. And the Bridegroom imagery and the end is my favorite.
Kind words. Thank you Melanie.
I just read this three times. The execution is flawless, and even more importantly, I believe it.
"Ride out before us, Bridegroom, Savior, King.
Tread down our foes—redeem our suffering!"
Yes and amen.
Thank you!
Stunning! I absolutely love this. It's going on my list of poems to return to, and I look forward to reading more of your work!
Much obliged!
I am struck by the militant, martial tone of this piece, and by the--to me, anyhow--slight note of all-too-human impatience. As usual with your work, the language is sumptuous, luxurious. No doubt, ignorant as I am, there is much here that I fail to appreciate. General question: Is there a paradox in writing "devotional" verse, in that the more perfect it is, the more likely you are to exalt yourself and not the God you profess to serve? The term that comes to mind sometimes when I read devotional verse is: gilded humility.
What a great question—certainly there may be some hubris in reframing scripture (who am I?), but I hope this comes off more as a tribute than a replacement. The strident tone, too, is an attempt to reflect and honor the earnestness of the original voice. But the question still stands, at what point is an artist bringing glory to himself by showcasing his own skill instead orienting the praise to its Source? It is one of the main criticisms I have of art from the Renaissance, before which visual artists were rarely the sort of egoistic celebrities of culture they've now become. My love for byzantine iconography derives in part from the irrelevance of the painter and the centrality of what in some sense lies beyond the strange and un-representational imagery. Hence they are "windows into heaven." Can a poem be the same? I will have to think on it.
It's something I've wondered about, but I know it's a question that can seem offensive. Based on what I've read from you here on Substack, you have, along with great knowledge, an easy-going, non-prickly personality, so I figured I'd ask. Of course, for most of us, with the Source dried up, there is no conflict in exclusive devotion to the self. What else is there? Everything I do, I do for the glorification of me. Interesting for me to read that the source of your love for byzantine iconography is partially "the irrelevance of the painter." For me, increasingly, advertising, with its irrelevance of the "author," makes the most sense as the basis for "creative" (the term I prefer is "decorative") writing.
I'm glad you asked—it is good to have one's motives interrogated in such an honest but genial fashion. If there is no Other, no ultimate Source, I suppose you are right that self-aggrandizement (or marketing more generally) may prove the most common motive (even among the ostensibly religious). On the other hand, perhaps that is too pessimistic. Might an artist not in some sense hypostatize Beauty (or the processes through which it is instantiated) and participate thereby in something that transcends himself? It may only "transcend" in the sense that it is not reducible to any given contributor or moment in time; it might only be a psychological trick to invest meaning into what will ultimately prove a quiet and cold lump of space debris; but if it softens even for one instant the wound of existence for even one poor human, has it not been something worth doing?
Your reply has me thinking of some lines from Robert Lowell: "Failure keeps snapping up transcendence,/bubble and bullfrog boating on the surface,/belly lustily lagging three inches lowered--/the insatiable fiction of desire." (It's a bathtub scene.)
Man that's good. What's the poem?
On a similar note from Stephen Crane:
I saw a man pursuing the horizon; / Round and round they sped. / I was disturbed at this; / I accosted the man. / “It is futile,” I said, / “You can never —” / “You lie,” he cried, / And ran on.
You mentioned the poetry of Crane to me recently--I think it was you?--and I consequently tracked down quite a bit of it, including the piece you quote. I'm glad to have discovered Crane's "poetry" (not sure that's the right word for his compressed hermetic utterances-- little darts, fluid and in flight). The Lowell is from his book book of sonnets, "The Dolphin." I think it's from a section called the Mermaid? (Not sure.)
This is great, rousing while also restrained. The poetic line as a unit of thought has been used to full effect, there's absolutely no filler. I love everything about this.
Thank you Tom—that means a lot coming from you.