Poetry Blog: "A Work Day in Hard Times"

Monday January 14, 2019   “Companion is the one who eats the same bread.”

This morning when I opened the blinds in my room, early sun and snow traceries on the courtyard cloister walk roofs took my breath away.    Sometimes the world is tough; sometimes it’s beautiful.  Same goes for my city, Detroit.  The view out the window onto Livernois and McNichols reminds me of one of the saints in my life.  Here’s a meditation about Dom Helder Camera I wrote four years ago;  not the first time I invite him to stir our imaginations and hopes.  He learned how to walk in the world as a blunt realist who, at the same time, breathed playful tenderness in and out, all day, every day.

Dom Helder Camera February 7, 1909, Fortaleza, Brazil – August 27, 1999.  He was archbishop of Recife and Olinda from 1964 to 1985 during military dictatorship in Brazil.  He interpreted Catholic teaching with a consistent, fierce attention to the violence of systems maintaining brutal poverty.  This unblinking attention to the violence of poverty was matched by legendary playfulness.  Here is one story among many, this one I witnessed.  Once Dom Helder was speaking to about 1500 people who sat on the St. Louis levee overlooking the Mississippi River (by the Arch); in the middle of the talk, a helicopter took off right behind him filled with tourists taking a ride with a bird’s eye view of the river and the city.   It made enough of a racket that it was impossible to hear what the Dom Helder was saying.  He paused, turned around to the helicopter, and gave the tourists a puckish little wave.  When the helicopter got a little farther out on its trip, he turned back to us.

Here is one of his sayings.    Read it like a poem, out loud, with pauses.

john sj

Today’s Post – Dom Helder Camera

“It is possible to travel alone, but we know the journey is human life
and life needs company.
Companion is the one who eats the same bread.

The good traveler cares for weary companions, grieves when we lose heart,
takes us where she finds us,  listens to us.
Intelligently, gently, above all lovingly, we encourage each other to go on
and recover our joy
On the  journey.”

1909-1999
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%A9lder_C%C3%A2mara

Courtyard Roof – January 19, 2012

Friday,  January 11, 2019

After Wednesday’s story of Pedro Arrupe, sj in 1945 Hiroshima when the Atomic Bomb decimated the city, a soul friend of 40 +   years emailed me with several more stories from Hiroshima that day.   Sr. Gerry Finan, S.H.  (i.e.  The Society of Helpers) has lived most of her life in harsh places with communities who befriend children, women, and men who have been hounded by violence and bitter poverty (most recently a community of African refugees in The Bronx).  Here’s her story, passed on by fellow Helpers who lived in Hiroshima not far from where Pedro Arrupe and his community of young Japanese Jesuits lived when the bomb fell.  Listening to stories from a day of terror and confusion in 1945 might help us 2019 readers pay attention to refugees, not only on the contentious US border, but also the c. 60,000,000 displaced women, men and children who walk the world having lost their homes.

Hiroshima,  August 6, 1945

Today’s Post:    Sr. Gerry Finan, SH about August 1945 in Hiroshima

“John, did I ever tell you about the Helpers in Hiroshima when the bomb fell? The Superior of the community went to each Sister and told them to make morning prayer in the garden. Sr. Teresa Yamata felt sick and did not want to go out. The Superior made her go to the garden. With the fall of the bomb the house was decimated. None of the Sisters were injured (though tested for thyroid cancer for years). They then went up the hill to the Jesuit Novitiate where they received directions from Arrupe to find any moveable items to carry survivors back to him. .  .  .

The description of persons caramelized in positons of morning breakfast, etc. were horrifying. When Teresa was later in the US, she described having the belief that the earth would never produce growth again. Then months later, she spied a green sprout and went shouting to the community to ‘Come see.’  .  .  .

When the Sisters went out for survivors with wheelbarrows, carts, wheelchairs, etc., those alive and burnt were fleeing to the river.”

Post # 2: William Carlos Williams, a poem to balance the burdens of horrors in the world, playfully 

Today’s Post:     The Manoeuvre

I saw the two starlings
coming in toward the wires
But at the last,
just before alighting, they

turned in the air together
and landed backwards!
that’s what got me —
to face into the wind’s teeth.

William Carlos Williams
September 17, 1883 – March 4, 1963
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Carlos_Williams

Wednesday January 9 –
“What you are in love with,
what seizes your imagination,
will affect everything.”

Fr. Pedro Arrupe, S.J.
This man of great hope and playful humor served as the Jesuit Novice Director in Hiroshima, 1945, the day the atomic bomb fell upon that city.  As the scale of destruction began to be clear, he and the novices formed medical emergency teams (Arrupe had medical training before he became a Jesuit) and walked the city looking for people who were still alive.  They carried as many as could fit all over the floors their home to the Novitiate, and tended wounds:  Not many world leaders came so close to nuclear weapons in action as this man.   “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.”

Today’s Post

Nothing is more practical than finding God,
that is, than falling in love in a   quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with,   what seizes your imagination,
will affect everything.
It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning,
what you will do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read,   who you know,   what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with   joy and gratitude.
Fall in love;  stay in love,
and it will decide everything.

Attributed to Pedro Arrupe, sj while he was Superior General of the Society of Jesus. (1965-1981)

1907-1991
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pedro_Arrupe

Monday, January 7

“Snow was blinding
and blowing from
a fierce wind . . .”

Over these years of the Work Day/Hard Time poetry list I’ve learned to expect surprises. Strong poets almost never slip in an unnecessary word. “Flint-hard language” is how Joseph Brown describes a strong poet (he is one himself). Expecting surprises becomes a method of praying, of noticing what waits to be noticed. The mystic poet, Jim Janda, needs you to read him out loud, with pauses — better two reads too. What does he notice here: winter wind? bitter cold? grocery cart as one’s closet? two dogs? warm enough? the social worker?

Surprises everywhere in this poem with no title. JJ died ten or more years ago. I am one of many who miss his eyes, his ears, and his voice.

Have a blest day,

john sj

Today’s post

Snow was blinding
and blowing from
a fierce wind
almost obliterating

one of his dogs
curled up on
his sleeping bag

in the basket of
his grocery cart
next to the storefront

and the snow kept
blowing while

another dog was slowly
wagging its tail
and looking up at
him explaining to
the social worker,

“Ain’t no shelter that
allows dogs and I
can’t part with them

“don’t worry lady
they plus the sleeping bag
keep me warm enough

“I got all I need—sure
is cold today, ain’t it”

J. Janda

Friday,  January 4, 2019

“Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.”

Last year in early March, a friend emailed me some lines from Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “Kindness.”  She  connects kinship and love with other things that can wear us down.  In her poem, meanness and violence become a context for enduring kindness.  No wonder my friend thought to send “Kindness” in these times.  Best to read the poem out loud, with pauses.

Term Two classes begin on Monday; Weather.com tells us that today will dance,  alive with clean sunshine.

Have a blest weekend.

john sj

Today’s Post  “Kindness”

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

Naomi Shihab Nye

(b. March 12, 1952)

post script: In another sister school  Loyola High School on 5 Mile in Detroit, Ann Riley has mentored these boys for many years and sent this picture.  (N.b.,  “Our guys” would be the boys carrying this homeless man to his funeral.  Posting the picture on Facebook gave him a name and that re-connected him with his daughter.  Her post makes a footnote to Naomi Shihab Nye’s wise poem, “Kindness.”)

Ann Riley explained in her post.  “Six of our guys volunteered to be pall bearers for a homeless man that St. Clare of Montefalco held a funeral service for.  We posted a picture of our guys on Loyola’s Facebook, and this is one of the responses we got.”

Marlita N. Chapman I am the Daughter of Henry Stanton…. and because of this Picture being posted on Social Media & by Patrick Harbin Jr my family was able to discover the loss of our loved one, who had been missing for quite some time…. on behalf of my brothers, myself and the rest of my family. We would like to say “Thank you” and extend our deepest gratitude to the young men of Loyola High School…who served as pallbearers, to St. Clare of Montefalco Parish and to Verheyden Funeral Home for providing a proper Burial Service. Although we are deeply devastated to discover the loss of our father this way… it gives us a little peace knowing he was laid to rest. Henry Stanton is loved by his family and will be truly, truly missed. Please keep us in your prayers and thank you again to all who participated in his funeral services our hearts ache finding out a day too late.

Daddy! Take care of Mom

Wednesday, January 2 —   “Drunk with the joy of singing”

On this dawn of Term 2, out my window Livernois and McNichols morning traffic reminds me that this is a work day, the first of 2019;  administrators, staff,  faculty, and  students begin to suck it up and plan toward the time when campus becomes a big part of home  and work from January to May.

What poem might speak to the courage & hope & anxiety that stirs a campus at the dawn of Term Two?   These 3 days of an abbreviated week find people  remembering rituals that marked the turning of the year:  visiting friends and kin;   eating and drinking more than ordinarily, storytelling and singing that waken deep places of memory, some sad, some awash with tenderness.     Rabindranath Tagore’s poem  (Gitanjali, # 2) can remind readers that the challenges of starting a fresh season of learning are not limited to anxiety and the sticker shock of reading all the term’s syllabi at once,  15 weeks of work, for every class, yikes!  Tagore’s Poem # 2 exults.  The wonder of  a new beginning and of finding one’s voice once more.

Best to read the poem out loud, with pauses.

Have a blest first week.

john st sj

Today’s post:  Rabindranath Tagore  Gitanjali # 2

When Thou commandest me to sing
it seems that my heart would break with pride
and I look to Thy face
and tears come to my eyes.

All that is harsh and dissonant in my life
melts into one sweet harmony
and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird
on its flight across the sea.

I know Thou takest pleasure in my singing
I know that only as a singer I come before Thy presence
I touch by the edge of the far spreading wing of my song
Thy feet which I could never aspire to reach.

Drunk with the joy of singing
I forget myself
and call Thee friend
who art my lord.

Tagore  Gitanjali  # 2

mcnichols campus after snow, december 13, 2010

This photo was taken, probably by my Dad, in 1946.  Dr. Redeman, a family friend, was Santa. He visited the homes of parents with children on Christmas Eve in our small town. Three of us four children sit in little chairs, adults behind us, waiting for Santa’s silver chimes outside our front door. Midge, the baby, sits on Mom’s lap on the left. Santa came in and took his black book out of its pouch. He read to us from the gospel of Luke and talked with us about the coming of Jesus into the world. The photo captures our stillness, our attention fixed on this mysterious person. How did Dr. Redemon move us to stillness? Perhaps by the depth of his voice, and its cadence; perhaps by the way he moved, a solemn dancer, with no sign of hurry as he and his Eskimo partner took presents out of large cloth bags, read our names, and placed each one under the tree.

Whoever took the picture captured my attention. The lighting takes me first to Santa’s face and beard and to his hand raised in a good-bye blessing; his poise, mid gesture, makes the entire photo hold its breath. The children show how focused we felt that night, absorbed with wonder. Dr. R taught us that sacred mystery is story telling with no hint of hurrying. All my life since, the pace of my life helps me recognize when I have found the grace to pay attention and not to interrupt.

All of us are better when our life’s pace makes us as still as the children in this 1946 photo. Writing about a moment from childhood makes me grateful for the “Work Day/Hard Times” poetry list. When I write, imagining all of you who read fills me with gratitude and wonder.

love,

john st sj

p.s. It turns out my home-town paper ran a short article, by Larry Ebsch, this year about Dr.  Redeman, seen above in the 1943 photo.  Here are couple quotes:

“While all Santa’s are special, Dr. Redeman, a dentist, was the star Santa of his era who was honored by the community  with a special tribute in 1952 with a party attended by 210 people at Riverside Country Club.  . . .  His love affair with the Christmas season began in the Northern Marinette County community of Amberg while visiting children of relatives and friends in his Santa Claus suit.  He expanded his performance in 1937 with visits to 41 families dressed in a special fur trimmed costume. . .  announcing his coming by ringing bells . . . the colorful yard decorations attracted national attention during the Great Depression years of the 1930’s.”

Tuesday, December 23  —   “my little heart loses its limits in joy”

Advent ends today: three plus weeks of prophecy daring us to see the world, realistically,  as  beautiful and beloved.   That dare can shake us when Advent’s antiphons compete with frightened and angry language as they surely do this election year.   Let’s match the 7th O Antiphon from a thousand years ago with the first prayer-poem in Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali,  a song of praise from the first decades of the 20th century.    Please consider them both as an offering to each of this list’s c. 2200 readers   Best to read out loud with some pauses.

Blessings during these holy days.   One more post tomorrow on what Christians call “Christmas Eve.”

john sj

p.s.       Tagore died in the city of his birth, Calcutta, in 1941.  He vastly influenced poetry, sacred and secular, not only in India but around the world.  He is the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913.  If you buy Gitanjali, a book of 100 short sacred poems, prepare yourself to only read one poem at a time so you can sit with it.  Here is # 1.   These poems have no titles, only numbers.

Today’s post –  Gitanjali # 1

Thou hast made me endless,  such is thy pleasure.
This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again,
and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart
loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest,
and still there is room to fill.

The 7th O Antiphon,  “O Emmanuel”

O Emmanuel!  ruler  and giver of our laws,
Hope of the people from across the whole world,
Come to save us
O Lord our God.

To listen to the Antiphon sung in Gregorian Chant

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWGM9bJR2Cs

December 21 – winter solstice  Antiphon 5

Friday , December 21  –  O Oriens”

At Detroit’s latitude we will have 9 hours and 3 minutes of daylight, 14 hours and 57 minutes of night time. Our shortest day. Today’s O Antiphon, “O Oriens” (“O Rising Sun”) tells us that the long-ago writers of these sung-blessings for Advent’s last days lived in the northern hemisphere. Deeper & deeper into the days of diminishing light they sing to human longing for liberation and dawn. Tomorrow the day will be 3 minutes longer (I think that’s accurate), the dawn of the majestic march of sunrise back from it’s southern-most point of Oriens.

“O Dayspring
splendour of light and sun of justice:
Come and bring light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.”

These days are full of tenderness, of giving and hospitality, of forgiving old wounds, of allowing someone to forgive and welcome me when our connection had been wounded. Days, too, of longing for the healing of the world’s wounds, days of taking our places in the fatigue and longings of the whole human family.

Daring days of courage. “O Oriens” is quite a prayer.

john sj

Dec 21 – 5th Antiphon O Oriens – O Dayspring

Today’s Post: “O Dayspring”
To listen to the Antiphon sung in Gregorian Chant

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAUzuw1l-7U

Saturday December 22,  Antiphon 6

“I have found you in the story again”

Joy Harjo published another book of poetry two years ago, “Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings.”   A young friend — living in immediate grief when one of his soul friends died suddenly, age 24, while out running — he,  one of a close group of young friends living this same loss  —  pointed me toward this new poem from one of my oldest soul friends.  “Fall Song,” is a new song alongside “O Antiphon 6:  O Rex Gentium,” one of the oldest writings that have appeared in the Work Day/Hard Time poetry list.  Joy Harjo and the anonymous medieval artist both touch vulnerable contact points that require tenderness to work their mysteries in a demanding world.

Best to read both poems out loud, with pauses.   Blessings this 22nd of December, the day when, in our northern hemisphere, daylight begins to tip a little bit longer after touching its deepest darkness yesterday  – – the first day a little longer and the sun a little higher in the sky for us who live in the northern hemisphere.

Today’s Post –  Joy Harjo, “Fall Song”

It is a dark fall day.
The earth is slightly damp with rain.
I hear a jay.
The cry is blue.
I have found you in the story again.
Is there another word for ‘‘divine’’?
I need a song that will keep sky open in my mind.
If I think behind me, I might break.
If I think forward, I lose now.
Forever will be a day like this
Strung perfectly on the necklace of days.
Slightly overcast
Yellow leaves
Your jacket hanging in the hallway
Next to mine.

poem by Joy Harjo – Nov 13, 2015
The New York Times Magazine

john sj

Antiphon #6   “O Rex Gentium”

O Leader of many peoples,
O Leader desired by many peoples
O Corner Stone who holds such different peoples together
Come and save us human beings whom you formed out of the earth’s clay.

To listen to the Antiphon sung in Gregorian Chant

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UwDdEQCtIF4

p.s. I’m posting these two antiphons from Baden PA, home of many soul friends of 40 years, sisters of St. Joseph and former sisters of St. Joseph and some dear friends populate the Motherhouse cemetery with tender memories.  I’ll leave for home tomorrow morning c. 10:00.  Depending on weather I should pull into our driveway on campus about 4:00.   Have a blest weekend, anointed with the loves of your life and with stillness.

Thursday  December 20
“Come and lead us who sit bound with chains in the prison house”

This morning I’ll be driving the Ohio Turnpike to a working class suburb down river from Pittsburgh, Baden.  Spending some of the days deepest into Advent hanging out with 6 or 7 Sisters of St. Joseph of Baden, soul friends of 40+ years.  We will tell each other stories of the year as it winds down towards the Christmas feast,  some of them playful, some tender, some alive with grief or anger: storytelling as prayer and kinship. These days are a seasonal grace as 2018 turns toward 2019.  It’s only a short visit;  I’ll savor Ohio’s northern turnpike again on Sunday when I head back to Motown and our campus.

Have a blest day, the last before Winter Solstice with its graceful turning in the dimmest light of the year.

john sj

O Antiphon #4   O Clavis David – O Key of David

“O Key of David,
and scepter of the house of Israel,
you open and no one closes,
you close and no one opens

Come and lead us who sit bound with chains in the prison house,
sitting in darkness and the shadow of death.”

To listen to the Antiphon sung in Gregorian Chant
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbdwoydPktQ

Cam nose to window December 16, 2007
Sometimes we get lucky and get good snow