Hester Pulter

Hester Pulter (1605–1678) is a writer of poetry and prose who was completely unknown, prior to the discovery of her manuscript at Brotherton Library, University of Leeds, in 1996. Although English, she was born in County Dublin, the eighth of James Ley’s ten children. He was chief justice of the King’s Bench in Ireland, at the time of her birth, but the family returned to England in 1608.

The manuscript of her collected writing demonstrates that she was well educated — not only through the variety of literary genres she mastered, but also through her allusions to classical authors, and her interest in recent scientific discoveries. It contains one hundred and twenty poems and an unfinished prose romance. There is no evidence that her writing was ever published (prior to the 21st century) nor that it was even circulated.

It is interesting to note that John Milton wrote a sonnet in honour of James Ley, addressed to Hester’s sister Lady Margaret Ley which begins: “Daughter to that good Earl…” It was in 1626 that James Ley became the first earl of Marlborough.

She married Arthur Pulter in 1620, several months before she turned 15. They primarily lived at his inherited estate of Broadfield near the village of Cottered in Hertfordshire (pictured above). Although Lady Hester Pulter gave birth to eight daughters and seven sons — mentioned by name in her poems — she only predeceased two of them.

The Desire

Dear God, vouchsafe from Thy high throne
To see my tears, and hear my moan;
For I, in heaven and earth, have none
To pity me
In my dejected sad estate,
Wherein I’m thrown by adverse fate,
And hope in none till my last date
But only Thee.
O then be pleased my dust to raise,
To sing thy everlasting praise
In those celestial unknown lays,
With life and love.
Then shall I leave these terrene toys,
Obliviating past annoys,
And be involved in endless joys
With Thee above.

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.

Maurice Manning*

Maurice Manning is a Kentucky poet, who creates the persona of a backwoods bumpkin in his poetry. His voice is cunning, and precise in its playful images, using a disarming, unhurried conversational tone that combines humour with the simplicity and beauty of life in rural landscapes. Although, he is a professor of English and creative writing at Transylvania University in Lexington, Kentucky, and in the Warren Wilson College MFA Program for Writers in North Carolina, he still lives with his family on a small twenty-acre farm. He is vice chancellor of the Fellowship of Southern Writers.

The following poem comes from Snakedoctor (2023, Copper Canyon) which is his eighth poetry collection.

The Red Chair

Believing and being hopeful and praying
are sometimes not enough to do
whatever it is I think I need—
a sort of peace in the valley for me.
But it’s truer to say my course goes through
the darker valley of the shadow.
And the shadow is proverbial,
of course, hard to describe, but the psalm
addresses it well enough. My soul
has been restored a thousand times,
but then it languishes. I get it—
nothing is easy, the struggle is part
of the so-called journey. The journey
must be proverbial too—I mean,
its not like I’m going anywhere,
just sitting in my silent room.
I sit a lot in a red chair.
I stare into space and sometimes
I don’t feel anything at all.
There’s probably something underneath
I’m missing or not fully getting.
But that’s part of it all, to be
in the dark, unknowing. To be unknowing
is a biggie when it comes to faith.
I wouldn’t want to know it all,
to have a vision so complete
you don’t have any doubts or wonders.
Why I must suffer and impair
myself in order to feel the depth
of love is a total mystery
to me. I’d prefer to go outside
and simply be alive in the green
and weather. Oh, I can do that well
enough, and have the whole transcendent
thing, but then the darkness like
a specter comes to rest beside me,
twitching, and everything becomes
abstract, proverbial, and low.
And I think, ironically, it’s dark,
It’s utter dark, this thing I must
Pass through. And thus the red chair
I occupy, from which I see
the world and am involved in love.
I’m so involved with love it’s hard
to fathom, hard to tell how much.
From my perspective, my love for the world
does not have end and has no measure.
There is no poetry in that
or a man sitting in a red chair.

Posted with permission of the poet.

*This is the second Kingdom Poets post about Maurice Manning: 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.

Vittoria Colonna*

Vittoria Colonna (1492—1547) is an Italian poet, who was also an influential patron of the arts. She is the first woman to have published a poetry collection under her own name. After her husband died at war, she wrote many love poems to his memory which became popular.

During the 1530s she became active in religious reform, and began writing love sonnets addressed to God — which became even more influential. She pushed the traditional Petrarchan form in a new direction to express her relationship with Christ. The first edition of her Rime was published in 1538, and appeared in twelve further editions before her death.

In 1531, Colonna commissioned Titian to paint a large portrait of Mary Magdalene — one of the figures of female spirituality from scripture and early church history she selected as role models for herself and other Christian women.

She became close friends with Michelangelo — influencing his poetry, and sharing the common conviction that faith was to be experienced personally, rather than merely dictated by the church. They both believed that one of the best ways to enhance such faith was through art. She commissioned his black chalk drawing of the Virgin Mary, Pietà for Vittoria Colonna (1540) for her personal meditation.

The following translation is by Jan Zwicky and appears in in Burl Horniachek’s anthology, To Heaven’s Rim: The Kingdom Poets Book of World Christian Poetry.

Sonnets for Michelangelo — 41

When to the one he most loved, Jesus
opened what was in his heart,
when he spoke of the betrayal, the plot
that was to come, it broke
the heart inside his friend. In silence—
for the others must not know—
the tears cut gutters in his face.
But seeing this,
his master held him to his breast,
and before the ditch of pain
had closed inside, had closed his eyes
in sleep.
No eagle ever flew as high
as the divine one in the moment of that falling.
This was God, who was himself alone,
both light and mirror. His rest
true rest, his sleep
true sleep, and peace.

*This is the second Kingdom Poets post about Vittoria Colonna: 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.

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.