Tag Archives: villanelle

Take Time

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Malcolm Guite’s weekly or so, Spells in the Library have been a great encouragement to me and Jennifer. One of the things which either happens or I imagine happens is that Dr Guite colloquially speaks in iambic pentameter. So many good and curious expressions roll off his tongue, and I find it delightful. One such instance occurred yesterday with a couple of sentences. In speaking of his library and the chaos of which has come…again, he says, “The sheer untidiness tells a story; all of these things have been gotten out and used…Then another necessity has hastened upon it. There’s time to take things out and to read them and reflect on them. But tragically there is no time to put them away.”

Here’s to taking time to reflect, and for allowing a little chaos to come again. I couldn’t help but responding with a verse which I hope does not offend, but it is rather and attempt to share every good thing with his teacher.

You may listen to me read the villanelle via the player below.

There’s time to take things out, read them all day
Time for your fingers to walk through the leaves,
But sadly no time to put them away.

The sheer untidiness tells of the way
Books beg to be browsed as flowers are bees
Who wouldn’t want time to read them all day?

They all have their place, you know where they stay
But urgency demands you follow its lead
And now there’s no time to put them away.

Words transport, longing carries one away
To the spice-laden lands born by their breeze;
How can one help but not read them all day?

Time! It’s time to go! Out! Into the fray!
You’re late! You can’t just do as you please!
'Sorry, Dear. Must go. Can’t put them away.'

Busy at your desk, you hear children play
Over and over sing, “Take up and read.”
Obey. Give them time. Read them all day.
Better than take time to put them away.

She Gave More than They

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During his passion week, Jesus traveled daily to the Temple in order to teach and preach. During a private moment with his disciples, Jesus takes note of a widow who placed her offering in the offering box. Here, two, small lepta (worth about the 1/4 of penny together) become the example of giving which surpasses the giving of all the others.

We read about her gift in Luke 21:1-4.

Jesus looked up and saw the rich putting their gifts into the offering box, and he saw a poor widow put in two small copper coins. And he said, “Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.”

James Tissot’s rendering of the same moment is one of my favorite depictions. There is so much going on in the painting. The rich who give while on their way into the dark, the hand of one hidden by the widow’s retreat as if he were picking her pocket, the stark, sharp clarity of the widow carrying her child as she moves towards the light…magnificent.

You may listen to me read the poem via the player below.

From her poverty she gave more than they
Who gave of their wealth, who gave from their best.
All she had to live on, she gave away.

Their offering was a giving display
Giving to show they had more than the rest.
From her poverty, she gave more than they.

For they fill their hearts with what other’s say
The real treasure buried ‘neath their vest.
All she had to live on, she gave away.

The crashing of shekels like a surf’s spray
Washes in praise as they empty their chest.
From her poverty, she gave more than they.

Round the Temple’s court, the Rabbi’s eyes stray
To one who gives from how much she’s been blessed;
All she had to live on she gave away.

He wonders at one who gives, freely lays
Down her living, no trouble or unrest;
From her poverty, she gave more than they
All she had to live on, she gave away.

© Randall Edwards 2017.
This poem is for Christ’s church. If it is helpful, please feel free to copy or reprint in church bulletins, read aloud, or repost. I only ask that an attribution be cited to myself (Randall Edwards) and this blog (backwardmutters.com). Thanks.
Artwork: James Tissot, The Widow’s Mite (Le denier de la veuve), Created: between 1886- and 1894, Brooklyn Museum

Be Thou My Light

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A villanelle repost for Easter Sunday. This poem is inspired by Valley of Vision, “Need of Jesus” which I have reimagined from the viewpoint of Mary Magdalene.

I am blind, be Thou my light.
Speak, call me into New Creation’s Day,
And seeing Thee, I shall love aright.

My heart bedeviled with the night
Is faithless, wanders, loves to stray
I am blind, be Thou my light.

Rescue me; employ Thy might;
Leave no unclean spirits to remain
And seeing Thee, I shall love aright.

Raised upon Golgotha’s height,
God’s Lovingkindness, the world did slay;
I am blind, be Thou my light.

Now this morn, the end of night–
With spice to dress at dawn’s first ray,
And seeing Thee, I shall love aright.

My called name turns dark to sight;
Fear and sadness gives way to say,
“I was blind, Thou art my light!”
And seeing Thee, I love aright.

© Randy Edwards 2016
This poem is for Christ’s church. If it is helpful, please feel free to copy or reprint in church bulletins, read aloud, or repost. I only ask that an attribution be cited to myself (Randall Edwards) and this blog (backwardmutters.com). Thanks.
Artwork: James Tissot (French, 1836-1902). Jesus Appears to Mary Magdalene (Apparition de Jésus à Madeleine), 1886-1894. Opaque watercolor over graphite on gray wove paper, Image: 8 15/16 x 6 1/16 in. (22.7 x 15.4 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Purchased by public subscription, 00.159.334 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 00.159.334_PS2.jpg)

What Love

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This poem imagines a few texts from the scriptures. Primarily it is an imagining of the parable of the prodigal sons (younger and elder) from Luke 15:11-32, but I have also drawn from Ezekiel 16:6, Romans 8:32, and 1 John 3:1.

You may listen to me read the poem via the player below.

See what kind of love the Father has shown
Though orphaned in the world and left to die,
You adopt me as your child, make me your own.

You found me lifeless, cast off like a stone,
And gathered me close, having heard my cry;
See what kind of love the Father has shown.

Raised as Your child, nevermore alone,
I walk the wide world beneath Your blue sky
As your child, having made me your own.

But wanting as I would have, off I roam
To the wild wood, other loves to try
Just what kind of love has this Father shown?

From your presence into hiding I’ve flown
I could’ve stayed, hiding, serving up a lie,
Denying I’m your child, pretending I’m my own.

Broken and shoeless, shall I return home?
Shall I enter the joy? Or remain outside?
What love is left that the Father hasn’t shown?
Would He give His all, not even sparing His own?

© Randy Edwards 2017
This poem is for Christ’s church. If it is helpful, please feel free to copy or reprint in church bulletins, read aloud, or repost. I only ask that an attribution be cited to myself (Randall Edwards) and this blog (backwardmutters.com). Thanks.

artwork: Rembrandt van Rijn, The Return of the Prodigal Son, c. 1661–1669. Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg

Easter Sunday

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Here are two previously reposted poems for Easter Sunday.
The first is a villanelle inspired by the prayer, Need of Jesus, which is included in Banner of Truth’s collection of puritan prayers, Valley of Vision.

In particular I meditate upon Mary Magdalene who came to the tomb on Easter morning to anoint Jesus’ body. Dealing with the confusion of the empty tomb, she weeps not only for her grief for Jesus’ death, but the double wounding of not being able to honor him in preparing his body. Thinking she is talking with the garden’s gardener, Jesus speaks, calling her by name, “Mary!” and she sees that she has been speaking with Jesus — that realization must have been as bright as the dawn of creation.

If it’s helpful you may listen to me read the poem via the player below.

I am blind, be Thou my light.
Speak, call me into New Creation’s Day,
And seeing Thee, I shall love aright.

My heart bedeviled with the night
Is faithless, wanders, loves to stray
I am blind, be Thou my light.

Rescue me; employ Thy might;
Leave no unclean spirits to remain
And seeing Thee, I shall love aright.

Raised upon Golgotha’s height,
God’s Lovingkindness, the world did slay;
I am blind, be Thou my light.

Now this morn, the end of night–
With spice to dress at dawn’s first ray,
And seeing Thee, I shall love aright.

My called name turns dark to sight;
Fear and sadness gives way to say,
“I was blind, Thou art my light!”
And seeing Thee, I love aright.

© Randy Edwards 2016

The second poem is entitled, We Had Hoped, and is based upon the encounter Clops and the other disciple had with Jesus on the road to Emmaus and in particular Luke 24:21 which reads,

But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things happened.

You may listen to me read the poem via the player below.

When death closes the door and hope is shut
Behind a stone — sealed from every light,
When the tears of loss tear the heart and cut,
The wound is darkness, and happiness, trite.
We had hoped that he was the one to save,
And redeem Israel from bondage and pain,
But three days ago we laid hope in a grave,
And now every plan and purpose is vain.
“We had hoped,” we told the one who joined our
Weary walk, and his question broke the wound
Open again. Our sad hearts, drained of power
When hope died and was buried in the ground.
But hope sparked anew with each word he said;
Blindness became seeing when he broke bread.

© Randy Edwards 2016

These poems are for Christ’s church. If it is helpful, please feel free to copy or reprint in church bulletins, read aloud, or repost. I only ask that an attribution be cited to myself (Randall Edwards) and this blog (backwardmutters.com). Thanks.