[A work in progress, perhaps]
Gethsemane
3 a.m.
I
Open to me the gates of justice:
I will enter and thank the LORD. Ps. 118: 19
Awake! Wake up in the garden!
Can you not watch with me,
My friends? Darkness abounds, encroaches.
Where is the light? Where, Father?
The Sun is below the horizon! 5
The flaming sword, lit long ago,
The nameless bush ignited, ages gone,
Drying vast acres of sand.
The little dog’s frightened,
Licking my hand. 10
Awake! Wake up in the garden,
Unable to praise? This moment.
Then arise, weary sluggards!
It’s not one of those days! 14
Not breakfast as usual,
There’s no time for toast!
Are you awake, good friends, said the host.
You’ve slept much longer than most! 18
Open to me the gates of justice:
I will enter and thank the LORD. Ps. 118: 19
3 p.m.
II
Thank God it’s Friday!
Half asleep at my desk,
I’m trying to think;
For a bottle of wine I’ve hidden.
Trying to pray, Hail Mary…. 5
I open the drawer, looking,
See the small pest:
The little mouse looking,
Sniffing the dry air,
Trying to suss out its nest. 10
The park bench is cold, father!
I shiver with dread.
Fat pigeons surround me,
I’m fresh out of bread. 14
I’ve a letter to post
Feeling much worse.
She’ll think I’m a ghost,
Haunting her world: Hail Mary… 18
Open to me the gates of justice:
I will enter and thank the LORD. Ps. 118: 19
9 p.m.
III
Come, my dear son,
Time for your prayers:
“Father, what shall I pray?”
Just one decade tonight:
“Hail Mary, full of…” Doubt.
Descending the stairs to the kitchen.
Darkness is still overwhelming.
Makes me want to scream, shout!
The cat sleeps soundly
Dreaming of mice.
“Father, may I have some water?”
He shouts. I fill his glass at the sink.
His nightlight glows softly;
I, climbing the stairs with his drink?
Last chance to pray;
The house is a dark place;
I’m down on my knees, at last—
Awake, alone, full of grace!
Father, Hail Mary
Open to me the gates of justice:
I will enter and thank the LORD. Ps. 118: 19 [Grail edition]
I realize that as a “poem” this doesn’t quite work. However, I have been studying Eliot’s “4 Quartets” and I was/am trying to see how he does it, the verse form, the images, the allusions, and most of all the coherence. My reference books are first, the poem. I long poem in four parts: Burnt Norton, East Coker, The Dry Salvages, and Little Gidding; for the four elements as understood in the Medieval model: Air, Earth, Fire and Water, suggests Thomas Howard in his discussion in Dove Descending. For me studying Eliot’s poetry as I am doing is like taking a graduate school course. My problem is that I can’t hold on to meanings for very long after I read them, alas! Still Eliot’s poem is the greatest poetic achievement in modern literature, just as Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings is the greatest novel. I have spoken. Eliot is difficult but well worth the effort it takes to go with him to where he has gone. In that sense this poem is very much like Dante’s Comedy. You might say it’s a pilgrimage or journey to the heart of reality. Thomas Howard is a good guide.
