...on Robert Alter's translation of the Psalms between poets Peter O'Leary and Alicia Ostriker is posted over at PoetryFoundation.org. The article's title is taken from Ostriker's first response, and is entitled, "If the Psalms aren't poetry, they're useless."
Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or
not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our
tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform,
patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."
We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then
others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know
there's something better down the road."
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the
dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the
bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the
glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for
every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."
Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial,
national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need
to preempt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.
So we're trying to develop some common space for the poetic and poetically-curious here at Asbury, luring the creative peoples of our community from their nooks to make some unique expression of faith together and providing some space for those of us who might struggle with poetry but still want to participate to find some voice.
Ergo: the Creative Commons Project (Better name ideas suggestions are welcomed).
With each season of the Christian calendar, we're going to have a corresponding project to contribute to. Hopefully, this will lead to some interesting poetry, as well as stretch some of our writing chops as we practice the season together.
This season is Epiphany . As JD wrote the other day:
"An epiphany isn't discovering something new. It's finally seeing
something old. To have an epiphany is to finally see what you've been
looking at so long; something mysterious and sublime long obscured by
the ordinary and mundane. It's the sudden opening up of the eyes of the
heart."
For phase one of this Creative Commons Project, we're asking for stories of epiphany. Do you have examples of times in your lives where your eyes were opened to something you'd never seen before? Where a long time hope finally was realized? Where you literally came face to face with Jesus (kind of like the Magi)?
In the comments section, leave us stories of epiphany from your journey with Christ. Our goal for this phase is to hear and write our stories of epiphany here, where others can read them and respond. In two weeks, we'll introduce the second phase of this project, so stay tuned...
They might have looked foolish,
those wise men,
leaving their books, following a star.
Leaving all behind:
dreams of the way things might have been,
or yet might be –
domestic, dogmatic, dignified dreams –
they abandoned all
for the learning of fools: experience,
where words meet flesh and blood,
and words fail.
They might have looked foolish,
giving up tenure,
ordination,
speculation in higher things;
giving up all,
except hunger and cold -
madmen driven to the desert to find God.
All of their wisdom,
all of their words,
distilled into darkness,
and a star.
They might have looked foolish,
traveling by night
like bandits bearing treasure
or lovers driven by desire,
traveling by starlight down that long road
from the ivory tower
to a stable
where words meet flesh and blood,
and words fail,
and all is changed,
and All Is
One.
The Basics:
About Asbury's Poets Blog
We're working on a great description of what this site is and what we hope it can become. For now, we will simply claim that we're a community of writers and readers, believers and skeptics who are wrestling with life and faith through the medium of poetry. All students, faculty, alumni, and friends of ATS are welcomed to join the conversation.
Submissions
If you have poems you want to submit, or have ideas for ways to help our community grow, please send them to [email protected] . We'd love to post your poems, and any feedback and creative ideas are welcomed!