Michael Symmons Roberts*

Michael Symmons Roberts is a British poet, broadcaster, and librettist ― collaborating often with the Scottish classical composer James MacMillan. His most recent poetry collection is Ransom (2021, Jonathan Cape). Carol Ann Duffy has called him “The clearest and purest voice currently sounding in British poetry.”

The following poem is from Ransom, and is the fifteenth poem from the central section “Vingt Regards,” which he explains “was written in response to Olivier Messiaen’s set of twenty short piano pieces about the incarnation: Vingt Regards sur l‘Enfant-Jésus.” The poems were commissioned by pianist Cordelia Williams who was curating a series of Messiaen events around the UK back in 2015.

For these poems Michael Symmons Roberts reflects on the various contemplations of the Christ child, but also on life in German-occupied Paris during 1944 where Messianen was composing his Twenty Contemplations of the Infant Jesus, and simultaneously Marcel Carné was working on his cinematic masterpiece Les Enfant du Paradis. He has said, “the poems are an attempt to explore the same theological or mystical ground as the music ― the scandal and sheer risk of the incarnation, the liberating power of it.”

Rehearsal For The Death Scene

If trees could walk like men,
beautiful boy-god, I would bear you
on my shoulders through this city,
show you every boulevard and alley,
every market stall and park.

You would tower above
the cavalcades and rallies,
peer into penthouse suites and boardrooms
witness to so many acts of cruelty and love,
safe among my needles.

Then when you nod tired
in the cold and thickening dark
I would stand on the riverbank,
as long slow barges mutter by,
and sing you to sleep in my many tongues:

the bat-high silvered songs
of linden, plane; slow lullabies
of quince and medlar from the gardens;
long laments of empress, foxglove
in the windless squares.

I would carry you for years,
until you grow so heavy that they
nail you up to keep you here. It is needless,
because even if my back broke,
I would never let you fall.

Posted with permission of the poet.

*This is the third Kingdom Poets post about Michael Symmons Roberts: first post, second post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of five poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Cascade) ― a book of poems written from the point-of-view of angels. His books are available through Wipf & Stock.

F.R. Scott*

F.R. Scott (1899―1985) in some circles is best known as a constitutional lawyer and political theoretician; he served as Dean of Law at McGill University, and was a political activist for more than forty years ― helping to lay the foundations for what is now Canada’s New Democratic Party. He considered, however, his poetry to be his most important contribution.

His father was an Anglican priest, poet, and a strong supporter of social justice issues ― who was returned to Montreal by the army in 1919 for being publicly in favour of the Winnipeg General Strike. F.R. Scott’s sense of human worth and dignity ― despite the secular forces within leftist political movements ― remained grounded in his Christian faith.

Scott was an early champion of modernist poetry in Canada, establishing little magazines in the 1920s. In 1936, he and his friend A.J.M. Smith edited New Provinces, the first anthology of modern Canadian verse.

The Winter 1967 issue of the journal Canadian Literature was subtitled “A Salute to F.R. Scott” and featured an essay by A.J.M. Smith, who said of Scott’s Selected Poems (1966, Oxford University Press) “most of his poems that start out as an image soon become images, and perceptions soon become concepts and blossom in metaphor, analogy, and conceit. Mind comes flooding in.” Smith, like many others, used the word “metaphysical” to describe Scott’s verse, and demonstrates the power of his poems by letting them speak for themselves.

The following poem is from Scott’s 1945 collection Overture (Ryerson Press).

Resurrection

Christ in the darkness, dead,
His own disaster hid.
His hope for man, too soon
Sealed with the outer stone.

This heaven was at hand,
Men saw the promised land,
Yet swiftly, with a nail
Made fast the earlier rule.

All saviours ever to be
Share this dark tragedy;
The vision beyond reach
Becomes the grave of each.

And that of him which rose
Is our own power to choose
Forever, from defeat,
Kingdoms more splendid yet.

Play Easter to this grave
No Christ can ever leave.
It is one man has fallen,
It is ourselves have risen.

*This is the second Kingdom Poets post about F.R. Scott: first post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of five poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Cascade) ― a book of poems written from the point-of-view of angels. His books are available through Wipf & Stock.

Sally Ito*

Sally Ito is a poet and writer who has four poetry collections, including her new book Heart’s Hydrography (2022, Turnstone). She is an adjunct Professor of English at Canadian Mennonite University in Winnipeg.

Rowan Williams (the former Archbishop of Canterbury) has written about this collection, “Winter landscapes, water landscapes, the landscapes of family love and frustration, and of the soul’s seasons―all these are mapped by Sally Ito with deep compassion and rich tactile imagery. Everyday perceptions made radiant.”

Sally has recently teamed up with Sarah Klassen and Joanne Epp to translate poetry from Catharina Regina von Greiffenberg for Burl Horniachek’s anthology To Heaven’s Rim: The Kingdom Poets Book of World Christian Poetry (2023, Poiema/Cascade).

The following poem Sally Ito wrote for me when I was seeking poetry related to the Biblical Stations of the Cross for Imago’s Toronto Arts Exhibition “Crossings: A Journey to Easter” which was presented in 2022. It is also the final poem in Heart’s Hydrography.

The Cross Speaks

I was a tree once, and of one body
that grew upward into the sky
and downward into the soil.

Many were the seasons of my life
until it ended with the ax.

Only the human would make out of my death
something out of the death of their God,
my dead body carried by him
who will die for them.

Still, I will lift him, and become the tree I once was
and I will bear him, as he bore me
and be planted once more
in the dark soil of my Creator’s nurturing.

Posted with permission of the poet.

*This is the second Kingdom Poets post about Sally Ito: first post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of five poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Cascade) ― a book of poems written from the point-of-view of angels. His books are available through Wipf & Stock.

John Slater*

John Slater is a Trappist monk at the Abbey of the Genesee in New York State. His most recent book is Beyond Measure: The Poetics of the Image in Bernard of Clairvaux (2020, Cistercian Publications). That book is written under the name of Isaac Slater, which is the name he’s known by at the Abbey. His poetry collections have been published under his birth name ― John Slater.

The following poem was presented through a video reading by Slater, to accompany the first station in the Crossings Toronto Arts Exhibition which was presented by Imago in central Toronto from March 2 to April 14, 2022. The sixteen poems, and sixteen accompanying pieces of visual art appear in the Crossings Catalogue.

Among the sixteen Canadian poets included in Crossings Toronto are, Sarah Klassen, John Terpstra, D.S. Martin, and Sally Ito.

I encourage readers to seek out a copy, and to use this resource for devotional reflections throughout Lent and Easter for many years to come.

Entry to Jerusalem (King of Peace)

Somber Palm
Sunday all
over the
world—streets
and churches
empty.

*

He comes! they
spill out from
the City
hosanna!
scramble up
palm trees hack
off branches
wrestle from
cloaks to fling
at his feet
joyous o-
vation for
the people’s
champion
head down meek
riding a
donkey—led
into the
ring—his face
set like flint.

*

The children
swept up in
their parents’
ecstasy
dart thru crowd
cut palm wave
branches shout
hosanna!
this strange king
like them with
no standing.

*

Before the
crown of thorns
purple robe
torture—be-
comes his own
parody
of Herod
and Pilate
So you are
a king? no
followers
defending
his kingdom
by force he
shall banish
chariot
and horse the
warrior’s
bow king of
suffering
king of peace.

*

Monks process
into an
empty church
palm fronds poke
discreetly
from choir stalls
spray from vase
near altar
the chant less
exultant
than serene
and yet still
carpeting
the Master’s
path with song.

Posted with permission of the poet.

*This is the second Kingdom Poets post about John Slater: first post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of five poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Cascade) ― a book of poems written from the point-of-view of angels. His books are available through Wipf & Stock.

Frederick William Faber

Frederick William Faber (1814―1863) is best known as a theologian and hymnist. He was born in Yorkshire into a Calvinist family of Huguenot descent, but as a student at Oxford University became greatly influenced by John Henry Newman. During this time he took extended vacations in the Lake District, to write poetry, and wrestle through theological issues. There he was befriended by William Wordsworth.

While a student at Oxford, Faber won the Newdigate Prize for poetry, which has also been won by such poets as Matthew Arnold and Oscar Wilde. He was ordained in the Church of England in 1839, however, in 1845 both he and Newman left to join the Catholic Church.

As was common for 19th century Christian poets, Faber wrote much of his verse in the form of hymns. Perhaps his best-known is — ironically — “Faith of Our Fathers.” By the twentieth century, however, this hymn was being included in Protestant hymnbooks, and A.W. Tozer included twenty pieces by Faber in his anthology, The Christian Book of Mystical Verse (1963).

The Eternity of God

O Lord! my heart is sick,
Sick of this everlasting change;
And life runs tediously quick
Through its unresting race and varied range:
Change finds no likeness to itself in Thee,
And wakes no echo in Thy mute eternity.

Dear Lord! my heart is sick
Of this perpetual lapsing time,
So slow in grief, in joy so quick,
Yet ever casting shadows so sublime:
Time of all creatures is least like to Thee,
And yet it is our share of Thine eternity.

Oh change and time are storms,
For lives so thin and frail as ours;
For change the work of grace deforms
With love that soils, and help that overpowers;
And time is strong, and, like some chafing sea,
It seems to fret the shores of Thine eternity.

Weak, weak, for ever weak!
We cannot hold what we possess;
Youth cannot find, age will not seek, —
Oh weakness is the heart's worst weariness:
But weakest hearts can lift their thoughts to Thee;
It makes us strong to think of Thine eternity.

Thou hadst no youth, great God!
An Unbeginning End Thou art;
Thy glory in itself abode,
And still abides in its own tranquil heart:
No age can heap its outward years on Thee:
Dear God! Thou art Thyself Thine own eternity!

Without an end or bound
Thy life lies all outspread in light;
Our lives feel Thy life all around,
Making our weakness strong, our darkness bright;
Yet is it neither wilderness nor sea,
But the calm gladness of a full eternity.

Oh Thou art very great
To set Thyself so far above!
But we partake of Thine estate,
Established in Thy strength and in Thy love:
That love hath made eternal room for me
In the sweet vastness of its own eternity.

Oh Thou art very meek
To overshade Thy creatures thus!
Thy grandeur is the shade we seek;
To be eternal is Thy use to us:
Ah, Blessed God! what joy it is to me
To lose all thought of self in Thine eternity.

Self-wearied, Lord! I come;
For I have lived my life too fast:
Now that years bring me nearer home
Grace must be slowly used to make it last;
When my heart beats too quick I think of Thee,
And of the leisure of Thy long eternity.

Farewell vain joys of earth!
Farewell, all love that is not His!
Dear God! be Thou my only mirth,
Thy majesty my single timid bliss!
Oh in the bosom of eternity
Thou dost not weary of Thyself, nor we of Thee!

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of five poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Cascade) ― a book of poems written from the point-of-view of angels. His books are available through Wipf & Stock.

John of Damascus

John of Damascus (c. 675―749) is a Byzantine Greek monk, priest, theologian and poet ― born and raised in Damascus, but who lived most of his life in monasteries near Jerusalem.

He is particularly known for his defense of the use of icons. Images of Christ and of the saints were, and continue to be, central to Orthodox worship. This was against the iconoclastic campaigns Emperor Leo III started in 726. John of Damascus argued, that although the Old Testament prohibited graven images, when Christ came in the flesh as “the image of the invisible God” such restrictions were no longer applicable. His writings played a significant role during the Second Council of Nicaea (787), which convened to settle this dispute.

The following is an excerpt from Christopher Childers' translation of “Paschal Canon” which can be read in its entirety in the new anthology To Heaven’s Rim: The Kingdom Poets Book of World Christian Poetry, Beginnings to 1800, in English Translation, which was edited by Burl Horniachek. I am fortunate enough to have worked alongside Burl in the completion of this significant work.

from Paschal Canon

The day of resurrection, may all God’s people brim
------------------with light. The Lord’s Passover!
From out of death to life, from Earth to heaven’s rim,
------------------we’re borne by the Prime Mover
our God Christ, as we sing out his victory hymn.

May all our senses be perfected; may we see,
------------------in resurrection’s sheer
untouchable brightness, Christ the Lightning, and may we
------------------perceive His voice, and hear
His ringing welcome, while we hymn His victory.

Let fitting celebrations exalt the smiling skies;
------------------let raptures seize the earth.
Let all the seen and unseen cosmos melt in cries
------------------of universal mirth.
The transport of the ages, Christ, awakes to rise.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of five poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Cascade) ― a book of poems written from the point-of-view of angels. His books are available through Wipf & Stock.

Anna Akhmatova*

Anna Akhmatova (1889—1966) is a Russian poet who lived most of her life in Saint Petersburg. Her first poetry collection, Evening (1912), established her as a significant poet, and her next two books Rosary (1914) and White Flock (1917) continued to build her reputation.

After the Russian Revolution of 1917, Akhmatova chose to remain in Russia even as other writers were fleeing to the West. Requiem, which she primarily wrote between 1935 and 1940, at first was about the arrest of her common-law husband Nikolay in 1935, but then became even more about the arrest of their son Lev in 1938 and his subsequent trial and sentencing.

The following is the tenth section from Requiem as translated by Stephen Capas. It appeared in the literary journal Cardinal Points in 2021.

Crucifixion

1

Don’t weep for me, Mother,
As I lie in my grave.

Choirs of angels hymned the glorious hour,
Dissolved in flame, the heavens glowed overhead.
“Why hast though forsaken me, my Father?”
And “Mother, do not weep for me,” he said.

2

Magdalen sobbed and wrung her hands in anguish,
The disciple whom he loved was still as stone.
But no one dared to look toward the place where
The Mother stood in silence, all alone.

1940-43

This post was suggested by my friend Burl Horniachek.

*This is the second Kingdom Poets post about Anna Akhmatova: first post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of five poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Cascade) ― a book of poems written from the point-of-view of angels. His books are available through Wipf & Stock.