Vasile Voiculescu

Vasile Voiculescu (1884–1963) is a Romanian poet, playwright, and short story writer. He also wrote as a journalist, and for radio. After high school he began to study philosophy at the University of Bucharest, but he soon decided instead to study medicine, which led to his career as a physician.

In 1916 his first poetry collection appeared — or rather it almost appeared — but the occupying German forces destroyed every copy. In 1918, his volume From the Land of the Wisent was published. He subsequently published other poetry books such as, Poems with Angels (1927), Destiny (1939), and The Last Imagined Sonnets of Shakespeare (1964). Much of his prose and dramatic work was published posthumously.

Voiculescu wrote many poems of the Christian faith, particularly focussing on the events of Christ’s life. He was persecuted by Romania’s communist authorities after WWII because of his beliefs in Christianity and democracy. They first prevented him from publishing, and then in 1958 he was imprisoned. During his incarceration he grew ill; he died of cancer a few months after his release.

The Burden

Lord, I complained my life was hard and grim,
I begged You take it back… You would not heed my plea.
You only said: “Let it not be yours alone—give it to them,
Divide your days with others, as many as there be.”

So off I went to cast away: to some my coat,
To others bread, or sandals, or my daily fare.
I crossed the earth, my years gone by, my soul laid bare,
And still my burden deepened, my secret none would note.

Again I returned, and in sorrow I cried:
“Lord, the weight increases, too heavy to bear!
I’m crushed, I cannot take another stride…”
“You must not give more,” You answered with care.

“Then what must I do?”—“Now, you must receive.”
And so I began: from some I took their teaching,
From others, their sorrow, their wounds to grieve,
I took all they gave me, receiving, not preaching;

Some hurled at me hatred, a curse, or disdain,
Far more gave me tears, despair, and pain.
I shared with so many their wounds, their sighs,
They gifted me torment, their sorrowful cries,

So much torment they gifted, I could barely contain.
Rarely a light from someone, more rarely still peace…
Into the cupped vessel of my soul, they cast
Only turmoil, shame, and their anguish.

Yet, Lord, the gift kept growing, ever more
—a mountain of affliction and grief—
I cannot bring myself to tear it from my heart;
All this I gathered: from them mercy, and from You a thought,
No care for myself, my worries are naught;
To bear it, You gave me so much strength and relief,
That my burden is light as a feather’s part.

This post was suggested by Burl Horniachek.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Sarah Rossiter

Sarah Rossiter is a creatively versatile writer, publishing both poetry and fiction. She is the author of the novel The Human Season, (Little Brown), the short story collection, Beyond This Bitter Air, (Illinois University Press), and the poetry chapbook, Natural Life with No Parole, (Finishing Line Press).

After years of having poetry appear in various journals — including multiple appearances in The Christian Century — Sarah Rossiter has now authored the full-length poetry collection Body of the World, which has just appeared from Cascade Books, and the Poeima Poetry Series. I am honored to have worked with Sarah in bringing this book to the public.

She lives with her husband of over sixty years in Concord, Massachusetts — now a Boston suburb, but once home to such literary figures as Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Louisa May Alcott, and Henry David Thoreau.

Rossiter describes herself as a cradle Episcopalian and a spiritual director who’s been meeting with those on the Path for thirty years. She is the mother of four, grandmother of eleven.

The following poem is from Body of the World.

Half-Light

Waking to winter’s dawn,
room drained of color
except for neon numbers–
6:14– blinking on the bruise
of the bureau against a pale wall

while out the window
a world shrouded, everything,
all of it, wrapped in gauze:

like Lazarus, I think, when
Jesus, weeping, called him forth,
and he woke from death, blinded,
his body bound by strips of cloth
that, like a chrysalis dissolving,
fall away as he rises to stumble
through darkness, stunned,
not knowing where he’d been or
what comes next, until he merges
into sudden sun.

Posted with permission of the poet.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

W.S. Senior

W.S. Senior (1876—1938) is an English scholar, poet, pastor, and teacher to Sri Lanka, which during his time was known as Ceylon. He has been called the “Bard of Lanka” (after his poem “The Call of Lanka”) and the best English poet Sri Lanka has produced — for it was in Sri Lanka where his poetic talent grew to maturity.

He came to Sri Lanka in 1906 and served as the Vice-Principle of Trinity College in Kandy for a decade. He then served as Vicar of Christ Church, Galle Face, from 1916 until 1919. His poetry collection Vita Magistra was published in1937. Although he retired to England, his heart home was always Sri Lanka.

One blogger, D.B.S. Jeyaraj, writes eloquently of his personal experience of the following poem — which had been put to music by Devar Surya Sena. Jeyaraj says it was sung at the prep school he attended.
-----“When we sang the lines ‘Give peace within her borders, Twixt
-----man and man goodwill,’ in those days of innocent childhood,
-----little did we realise that this blessed Island was going to be
-----torn apart by a cruel war lasting for decades. The war has ended
-----now. What is sad and troubling are the efforts by extremists on
-----either side of the ethnic divide to whip up communal passions.
-----One hopes and prays that saner counsel prevails and the
-----merchandising of hatred ceases.”

The Hymn of Ceylon

Jehovah, Thou hast promised
The isles shall wait for Thee,
The joyous isles of ocean,
The jewels of the sea.
Lo! we, this island’s watchmen
Would give and take no rest;
For thus hast Thou commanded
Till our dear land is blessed.

Then bless her mighty Father,
With blessings needed most,
In every verdant village,
By every palmy coast.
On every soaring mountain,
O’er every spreading plain,
May all her sons and daughters
Thy righteousness attain.

Give peace within her borders
Twixt man and man goodwill,
The love all unsuspicious,
The love that works no ill.
In loyal lowly service,
Let each from other learn,
The guardian and the guarded,
Till Christ Himself return.

To Him our land shall listen,
To Him our peoples kneel;
All rule be on His shoulder,
All wrong beneath His heel;
O consummation glorious
Which now by faith we sing;
Come, cast we up the highway
That brings us back our King!

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Richard Crashaw*

Richard Crashaw (c.1613—1649) is an English poet who was influenced by the Metaphysical poets, and by Spanish and Italian poetry — particularly the Italian Giambattista Marino. The Cambridge Companion to English Poetry says that Crashaw “was revived early in the twentieth century as a 'Metaphysical' poet and as a member of the 'School of Donne'. In some ways that classification was advantageous to his status, because he gained a degree of recognition by riding on Donne's coat-tails in the great wave of popularity.” The great disadvantage, however, is that Crashaw’s verse has less in common with Donne than the other Metaphysical poets, and was therefore judged harshly.

Because Crashaw was a Catholic sympathiser, he fled to France in 1644 to avoid persecution by Oliver Cromwell's Puritans. There he converted to Catholicism. His friend Abraham Cowley found him living in poverty in Paris, and introduced him to Henrietta Maria, Charles I's queen, who sent him to Rome.

This is an extremely truncated version of the poem which appears in his book Steps to the Temple. It is spoken by “the three kings” having the following stanzas alternately voiced by the various magi.

from A Hymn for the Epiphany

Look up, sweet Babe, look up and see!
For love of thee,
Thus far from home
The East is come
To seek herself in thy sweet eyes.

We who strangely went astray,
Lost in a bright
Meridian night;

A darkness made of too much day;

Beckoned from far
By thy fair star,
Lo, at last have found our way.

To thee, thou Day of Night! thou East of West!
Lo, we at last have found the way
To thee, the world's great universal East,
The general and indifferent day.

All-circling point! all-centring sphere!
The world's one round eternal year ...

*This is the third Kingdom Poets post about Richard Crashaw: first post, second post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.