Mia Anderson

Mia Anderson is a Canadian poet, Anglican priest, and retired actress. She is the author of seven poetry collections — including her brand new book O is for Christmas: a Midwinter Night's Dream (2024, St Thomas Poetry Series). Her first collection Appetite appeared from Brick Books in 1988. Around that time she twice won the Malahat Long Poem Prize.

She spent some 25 years as an actress in Canada and Britain — including five seasons at Ontario’s Stratford Festival — but left that behind to receive her MDiv in 2000 to become a priest. With her fourth book The Sunrise Liturgy (2012, Wipf & Stock), her most theological book to date, she joined the long tradition within the Anglican Church of poet-priests.

The foreword to her new book is written by the former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams.

In 2013, the following poem won the $20,000 Montreal International Poetry Prize.

The Antenna

For Mike Endicott

The antenna is a growth not always
functional in all people.

Some can hoist their antenna with
remarkable ease—like greased lightning.

In some it is broken, stuck there in its old winged
fin socket way down under the shiny surface

never to issue forth.
Others make do with a little mobility,

a little reception, a sudden spurt of music
and joy, an aberrant hope.

And some—the crazies,
the fools of God—drive around

or sit or even sleep
with this great thin-as-a-thread

home-cobbled monkey-wrenched filament
teetering above their heads

and picking up the great I AM like
some hacker getting Patmos on his toaster.

And some, with WD40 or jig-a-loo
or repeated attempts to pry the thing up

or chisel at the socket
do not give up on this antenna

because they have heard of how it works
sometimes, how when the nights are clear

and the stars just so and the new moon has all but set,
the distant music of the spheres is transformative

and they believe in the transformation.
It is the antenna they have difficulty believing in.

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.

James Matthew Wilson

James Matthew Wilson is the founding director of the MFA program in Creative Writing at the University of Saint Thomas in Texas, and poet-in-residence of the Benedict XVI Institute which is centred in San Diego — although he and his family live in Michigan. He is influential as a poet, critic, and scholar, particularly in Catholic and conservative circles. He regularly contributes to such magazines as First Things, The New Criterion, National Review, and The American Conservative.

Among his fourteen published books are several poetry collections; his latest is Saint Thomas and the Forbidden Birds (Word on Fire, 2024). As a poet he is clearly a formalist, which is evident in his roles as Poetry Editor for Modern Age magazine, and as Series Editor for Colosseum Books.

The following poem first appeared in the 2024 issue of Presence.

A Dedication to My Wife
----of a book of Anne Bradstreet's poems

If ever two were one, then why not we?
We have begot two in our unity
And find these incarnation of our love
Whatever other mercy from above
Rains down on me—the joys of work, the ease
Of sunshine, peace in thought—may He still please
To let me share these goods with you; or, better,
To let us know them in one heart, our letter
Sign with one name, and find in every hour
Not failing moments but a lating power
That, met with suffering or trial, endures,
Like cellared wine grow fine as it matures.

This post was suggested by my friend Burl Horniachek.

Posted with permission of the poet.

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.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875—1926) is an Austrian poet born in Prague. Although he is not a Christian, he did receive an intensely Catholic upbringing through his mother. This provided him with Christian imagery and stories, which significantly influenced his concepts of the spiritual life as he created his own mythological landscape.

When Rike refers to God he has his own pantheistic ideas in mind — although for a reader with Christian understanding of who God is, the interpretation might often remain orthodox.

Rainer Maria Rilke is known for his lyrical intensity — particularly in his Duino Elegies which begins, Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angelic / orders? And even if one of them pressed me / suddenly to his heart: I’d be consumed / in his stronger existence…

In my own poem “Response to Rilke” I have my angelic narrator reply,
----There are few angels---to firsthand hear your cries
--------for some circle the earth
----------------turning away terrors you’ve no knowledge of…
----& though I once was called---to oversee your sojourn
----it was never mine---to turn you left or right
---------------------------or hold you in my embrace…

So many translations of Rilke’s poems appear in journals, anthologies, books, and on the internet, including by such noteworthy poets as Seamus Heaney. Since, like most of you, I don’t speak German, I must content myself with English translations, comparing one with another, and hanging onto the versions that grip me most.

I have been arrested by Rilke’s poem “Autumn” (“Herbst” in German) from The Book of Images many times in various translations. The subtleties from one translation to another deepens my appreciation of the original poem.

Susan McLean translates the opening couplet as
----The leaves are falling, falling from on high,
----As if far gardens withered in the sky.

And Robert Klein Engler has the third line read:
----to teeter with the grace of letting go.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The following beautiful version is a translation by Charles L. Cingolani.

Autumn

The leaves fall, as from afar,
as if withered in heaven's remote gardens;
it is with reluctance that they fall.

And during the nights weighty earth falls
from all the stars into solitude.

All of us fall. This hand falls here.
And look at others: All of them fall.

But there is One, Who holds what falls
with infinite tenderness in His hands.

Even though this is my favourite translation, I appreciate some alternate ways certain lines are carried into English.

Edward Snow renders the final couplet as:
----And yet there is One who holds this falling
----with infinite softness in his hands.

And J.B. Leishman translates it:
----And yet there’s One whose gently-holding hands
----This universal falling can’t fall through.

Despite Rilke’s fragmented acceptance of a Biblical concept of God, his poem does draw us toward a beautiful truth.

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.

Stella Nesanovich

Stella Nesanovich is a poet who was born and raised in New Orleans. She has published two collections: Vespers at Mount Angel (2004, Xavier Review Press) and Colors of the River (2015, Yellow Flag). She has also published four chapbooks. She is Professor Emerita of English from McNeese State University in Lake Charles, Louisiana.

Philip C. Kolin said when Colors of the River was about to appear, “With her exquisite new collection, Stella Nesanovich is undoubtedly one of Louisiana’s most gifted poets and a contributor to the Southern elegiac tradition…”

Since that time, her poem “Everyday Grace” has received significant attention after it first appeared in the literary journal Third Wednesday in 2016. Ted Kooser featured it in “American Life in Poetry” — a column which was included in numerous newspapers. “Everyday Grace” can be read on the website of The Poetry Foundation and has been posted to many other internet sites.

The following poem first appeared at Reformed Journal.

Blue Light

The color of deep ice, the blue
frozen in crevasses, a hue
like none other. Such ice
holds memory in that intensity,
a siren song that calls the body.

The early dark of autumn
afternoons, the sky’s cobalt
evoke delight even as sun
departs, leading us
to the depths of night.

One fall, I sat in blue light
cast by stained glass,
a luminous veil. Amazed
by a message I heard
in prayer, I lingered
in tinted brilliance, gazed
about to see if others knew.

Was Gabriel an azure shimmer
when Mary heard him speak
the miracle to grace her life?
Often our answered prayers
are wisps of such light.

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.

Emperor Kangxi

Emperor Kangxi (1654—1722) — whose personal name is Xuanye — ruled in China for 61 years, during the Qing Dynasty, including for several years as a child under four regents until he came of age. He is revered for establishing a period of peace, and for encouraging the pursuits of literature and religion.

Under his influence vast encylopedias were compiled, as well as the Kangxi Chinese dictionary. In 1705, he commissioned The Complete Tang Poems —a collection of 49,000 lyric poems by more than 2,200 poets.

In 1692, Kangxi issued the Edict of Toleration, which barred attacks on churches, and legalized the practice of Christianity among Chinese people. He wanted to maintain oversite of Chinese Christians himself, and resisted the control of Pope Clement XI who issued a papal bull in 1715 condemning certain traditional Chinese religious practices. The emperor responded by banning missionaries from entering China.

Various people have sought to claim Kangxi as an adherent of their beliefs. He was a Neo-Confucian, who sponsored the construction, preservation, and restoration of many Buddhist sites, and who wrote poetry — such as the following poem of Christian faith.

The following qi-yen-she poem follows a traditional format — using seven Chinese characters in each line, and including the numbers one through ten.

基督死
功成十字血成溪 ，千丈恩流分自西。
身列四衙半夜路，徒方三背兩番鸡。
五百鞭达寸肌裂，六尺悬垂二盜齐。
慘恸八垓惊九品，七言一毕万灵啼。

The Death of Christ

When the work of the cross is done, blood flowed like a river,
Grace from the west flowed a thousand yards deep,
On the midnight road he was subjected to four trials,
Before the rooster crowed twice, three times betrayed by a disciple.
Five hundred lashes tore every inch of skin,
Two thieves hung on either side, six feet high,
Sadness greater than any had ever known,
Seven words, one completed task, ten thousand spirits weep.

Since all ten numbers don’t come through in this English translation, they are laid out here:
----1- — once for all, the finished work, or the one task
----2- — two thieves
----3- — three times denied
----4- — four trials back and forth
----5- — five hundred stripes
----6- — six feet high on the cross
----7- — the seven last words of Christ from the cross
----8- — eight compass points — to the furthermost point of the world
----9- — nine ranks of officials — all walks of people
----10 — Chinese numeral ten, which is the pictograph of the cross

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.

Bede

Bede — often referred to as the Venerable Bede (673—735) — is an Anglo-Saxon poet, priest, theologian, scholar and historian. His best-known work is Ecclesiastical History of the English People (731), which outlines a history of England, beginning with the invasion by Julius Ceasar in 55 BC, and describes the conversion to Christianity of the Anglo-Saxon people. From this work came the method of dating events from Christ’s Birth (BC and AD).

At age seven, he was sent by his family to the monastery of Monkwearmouth to receive his education. He spent most of his life in the monastery, and its sister monastery at Jarrow, although he also travelled to various monasteries throughout Britain.

It is through Bede that we know that Cædmon (657—680) — besides his one surviving hymn — also wrote many poems about Genesis and the Gospels.

The following poem — also known as Bede’s Lament — is the most-copied Old English poem in ancient manuscripts; according to tradition it was written on his deathbed, although there is no evidence that he was the author. Here are a couple renderings of the poem in English. I include them both to assist us in our reflections.

Bede’s Death Song

Facing Death, that inescapable journey,
who can be wiser than he
who reflects, while breath yet remains,
on whether his life brought others happiness, or pains,
since his soul may yet win delight's or night's way
after his death-day.

Bede’s Death Song

Before the unavoidable journey there, no one becomes
wiser in thought than him who, by need,
ponders, before his going hence,
what good and evil within his soul,
after his day of death, will be judged.

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.

Luke Harvey

Luke Harvey is a poet who describes himself as “living in the interstate / between two worlds” — that is, in Chickamauga, Georgia, just ten miles from Chattanooga, Tennessee. He works as a high school teacher in that other world. He also writes for and works on the poetry editorial panel for The Rabbit Room.

Harvey’s debut poetry collection Let’s Call It Home has just appeared as part of the Poiema Poetry Series from Cascade Books. I am honoured to have worked with Luke in editing this fine book for publication.

The English poet Malcolm Guite has written of this new collection, “Time and again these poems do what poetry does best: they transfigure the familiar and so reveal something of its meaning: …from the mystery of the earthworm rising towards the rain, to the family who find that feeding a child pureed peas is an entirely sacramental act, in poem after poem Luke Harvey gives us a glimpse of what George Herbert called ‘Heaven in Ordinary’.”

The following poem is from Let’s Call It Home.

After the Murder

The crux of the matter is what to do.
with the body now crumbled

in your hands. Logic says dismember
it, scrubbing beneath your fingernails

to rinse away any condemning
evidence of having been at the scene

of the slaughter, then bury the axe.
Or maybe you play it cool, act

like it’s nothing new to hold a carcass
in your cupped palms, like really this

is something you do on a weekly basis,
nonchalant as a Sunday stroll. Of course,

you wouldn’t be here in the first place
if you were one to listen to logic,

so disregard that. You’re holding the flesh
and blood of another. This is no time for logic.

Pray for forgiveness and devour it,
wiping first one cheek, then the other.

Posted with permission of the poet.

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.