Poetry, Preaching and Wendell Berry
I confess. I'm not much of a poet. Iambic pentameter fits me about a well as "slim cut" jeans. But over the past few weeks, I've enjoyed experimenting in this space with my own sort of blank verse structure which has almost "written itself".
The ease with which much of this writing has occurred has made me suspect the writing itself. After all, the notion that writing should be a tortured, arduous and nearly miserable process has been ground into the fabric of my being by a lengthy procession of English teachers and professional writers talking about challenges of the craft.
As a preacher, though, I've been enamored of poets and their precision with words for quite some time. Poetry and preaching share a commonality, I think. Both are significantly harder to do that it may appear at first glance. Both crafts seem to exist on the fringe of a society which values practicality and usefulness above just about anything else. I think poets probably rank a bit farther up the ladder of usefulness than preachers -- after all, at least poets can claim their work as art!
The writer/poet who has influenced me in these recent efforts (even if he might prefer not to be the source of such "inspiration!) is Wendell Berry. Find him on Wikipedia or Google and read all about him. Here's the short sketch: Berry "made the decision decades ago to give up the literary life in New York and seek a deeper bond with his ancestral home, a hillside farm in Henry County, Kentucky on the Kentucky River..." (from the New York Times Book Review). His poems and essays reveal a deep spirituality rooted in a love of the land he has worked year after year.
Of all the things I admire about Berry, it is his consistent contrariness that inspires me the most (maybe it's a Southern thing?)...anyway, I thought I'd share a favorite passage from his Collected Poems: 1957-1982..."The Contrariness of the Mad Farmer":
..."Dance," they told me,
and I stood still, and while they stood
quiet in line at the gate of the Kingdom, I danced.
"Pray," they said, and I laughed, covering myself
in the earth's brightnesses, and then stole off gray
into the midst of a revel, and prayed like an orphan.
When they said, "I know that my Redeemer liveth,"
I told them, "He's dead." And when they told me,
"God is dead," I answered, "He goes fishing every day
in the Kentucky River. I see Him often."
When they asked me would I like to contribute
I said no, and when they had collected
more than they needed, I gave them as much as I had.
When they asked me to join them I wouldn't,
and then went off by myself and did more
than they would have asked. "Well then," they said,
"go and organize the International Brotherhood
of Contraries," and I said, "did you finish killing
everybody who was against peace?"
I confess. I'm not much of a poet. Iambic pentameter fits me about a well as "slim cut" jeans. But over the past few weeks, I've enjoyed experimenting in this space with my own sort of blank verse structure which has almost "written itself".
The ease with which much of this writing has occurred has made me suspect the writing itself. After all, the notion that writing should be a tortured, arduous and nearly miserable process has been ground into the fabric of my being by a lengthy procession of English teachers and professional writers talking about challenges of the craft.
As a preacher, though, I've been enamored of poets and their precision with words for quite some time. Poetry and preaching share a commonality, I think. Both are significantly harder to do that it may appear at first glance. Both crafts seem to exist on the fringe of a society which values practicality and usefulness above just about anything else. I think poets probably rank a bit farther up the ladder of usefulness than preachers -- after all, at least poets can claim their work as art!
The writer/poet who has influenced me in these recent efforts (even if he might prefer not to be the source of such "inspiration!) is Wendell Berry. Find him on Wikipedia or Google and read all about him. Here's the short sketch: Berry "made the decision decades ago to give up the literary life in New York and seek a deeper bond with his ancestral home, a hillside farm in Henry County, Kentucky on the Kentucky River..." (from the New York Times Book Review). His poems and essays reveal a deep spirituality rooted in a love of the land he has worked year after year.
Of all the things I admire about Berry, it is his consistent contrariness that inspires me the most (maybe it's a Southern thing?)...anyway, I thought I'd share a favorite passage from his Collected Poems: 1957-1982..."The Contrariness of the Mad Farmer":
..."Dance," they told me,
and I stood still, and while they stood
quiet in line at the gate of the Kingdom, I danced.
"Pray," they said, and I laughed, covering myself
in the earth's brightnesses, and then stole off gray
into the midst of a revel, and prayed like an orphan.
When they said, "I know that my Redeemer liveth,"
I told them, "He's dead." And when they told me,
"God is dead," I answered, "He goes fishing every day
in the Kentucky River. I see Him often."
When they asked me would I like to contribute
I said no, and when they had collected
more than they needed, I gave them as much as I had.
When they asked me to join them I wouldn't,
and then went off by myself and did more
than they would have asked. "Well then," they said,
"go and organize the International Brotherhood
of Contraries," and I said, "did you finish killing
everybody who was against peace?"
posted by FrGaryB | 6:18 PM
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