Friday 30 January 2015
A poem by the Norwegian poet Rolf Jacobsen
Stave churches
I believe in the
dark churches,
those that still
stand like pitch-fires in the forests
bearing with them a
scent as of deep-red roses
from times that maybe
possessed more love.
The soot-black
towers I believe in, those with a sun-burnt smell
and ancient
incense in-branded by centuries.
Laudate
pueri Dominum, laudate nomen Domini.
Axes dubbed them
and silver bells rang in them.
Someone carved them
with dreams, gave them wings to roam with
through ages and
mountains. They break like billows around them.
Now they are ships,
with crow’s nests toward the East Indies,
Santa Maria, Pinta
and Niña when the days darkened
near the world’s
end, years away from Andalusia.
Laudate
pueri Dominum, laudate nomen Domini.
Fear everywhere,
even Columbus is frightened now
that mirages seek
to entice them and the wind’s the hissing of serpents.
The stars stare immovably
down with iron eyes of madness,
all the days are
evil, all hope of rescue is gone, we though keep
sailing, sailing,
sailing.
Laudate
pueri Dominum, laudate nomen Domini.
A recent poem by Hester Knibbe
Let us set fire
to
the old letters,
see all the beautiful
rain-sodden
sun-bleached words and lines
go up in flames while
unashamedly
retaining their
content. We have
known happiness,
oh how we have known –
Let us
explore before
long other cities, through new
streets with
musicians and sleepers on benches
stroll, grow
accustomed depart.
Let us
eat there drink and
give
the singer enough
for him to get drunk
the beggar what is
his due.
To see the
original and hear Hester Knibbe read the poem aloud, go to here.
Thursday 29 January 2015
Another highly pietistic hymn from Brorson
Peace in Jesu’s death we surely
Peace in
Jesu’s death we surely
could and
should and ought to feel.
Of this his
each wound securely
serves as
pledge and proof and seal.
Tell all
sinners now heart-riven
Peace is
here, so freely given!
Simply
come, you who are sighing,
faint and
tired from threat of law!
From
Christ’s wounds aren’t you descrying
their true
meaning is far more?
He you from
your pain did sever,
So, my
heart, you’re free for ever.
Now
farewell to all your raging
and your
thunder, Sinai!
All my pain
he is assuaging,
from chastisement
sets me free.
Every drop
of blood that’s flowing
copious
grace on me’s bestowing.
Jesus! let
the soul but tarry
in your
great pain’s sweet relief;
let your
pierced side safely carry
all my
longing, hope, belief!
Then in
paradise your dying
I’ll be
ever glorifying.
Tuesday 27 January 2015
At the Jewish cemetery in Prague, Oscar Levertin (1862-1906)
To see the poem in translation, go to here.
Yet one more Brorson
Who’ll accuse, indict me?
Who’ll
accuse, indict me
have me
tried and slight me
on Mount
Sinai?
Though my sins
conceding,
I to Christ
am speeding,
which shall
set me free.
For if
tried
where Jesus
died,
he will vanquish
those who’d spite me,
who’ll
accuse, indict me?
Who’ll
condemn and curse me?
May I now
immersed be
in Christ’s
blood, set free.
God is judge
almighty
and his
verdict’s rightly:
He released
shall be,
in Christ’s
blood
he is made
good –
Satan, sin
and death dispersed be!
Who’ll condemn and curse me?
Monday 26 January 2015
A poem by the Norwegian writer Rolf Jacobsen
THE FIREFLIES
It was that evening with the
fireflies
when we stood waiting for
the bus to Velletri
that we saw the old couple
kissing each other
under the plane tree. It was
then
you said, half into the air
half to me:
Whoever has loved long
has not lived in vain.
And it was then I caught
sight of the first
fireflies in the dark,
sparkling
with flashes of light around
your head.
It was then.
Sunday 25 January 2015
A poem by Karin Boye
THE SEA
Salt, bitter salt
the sea is, and clear and
cold.
Deep down, there’s much that
moulders,
the sea though cleanses all.
Wild, beast of prey wild
is the surf in its glittering
bound,
but no human thoughts have
ever
the sea-song’s full-bodied
sound.
Strong, endless and strong
is the mighty march of the
waves,
and strong with the unending
sea
each gentle transient wave.
So give your life to the sea.
There’s
life-blood required of a man,
though lastly, deep in the
depths, he
will gain rest that none
other can.
Friday 23 January 2015
Brorson of the day
O Holy Ghost! immensely
O Holy
Ghost! immensely
my heart
yearns for its home,
that
precious gem,
Jerusalem,
where all which
pains intensely
you grant
me to disown.
O Holy
Ghost! immensely
my heart
yearns for its home.
But ah,
those seas restraining!
How can I
find a way
past reefs unseen
and
currents keen
my
stronghold safely gaining?
I shall
though, come what may.
But ah,
those seas restraining!
How can I
find a way?
This
thought shall quell my fearing:
I’ll soon in
heaven stand.
My faith
make brave
to flout
each wave,
and safe
the ship be steering,
you know just
what I can!
This
thought shall quell my fearing:
I’ll soon in
heaven stand.
A poem from the just-published Cathedra sequence by Albert Hagenaars
the
tombstones of saint-denis
The light of Abbot Suger, ever new, falls
on
canopies and tombstones, the vacant faces
of kings. Their graves are subject to
an emptiness greater than that of life.
Further down, in the crypt, their
amassed remains now acidify, sealed
off from the viruses of a belief
more menacing, penetrating
than that of the zealot from Geneva,
the arguments of the Enlightenment
or the yapping goddess of the Revolution:
our probing of DNA, nanos and the universe.
This gleaming marble, wearing away
in staring, suggests how we too might
shine,
in a glow that knows neither day nor night
for love is deep, deeper than stone is
dense.
Taken from the four-language collection
Cathedra, the original Dutch by Albert Hagenaars.
For more information, consult his website
at www.alberthagenaars.nl
Thursday 22 January 2015
At a guess - the only hymn that includes a honey cake. By Brorson (1739).
God’s kingdom’s gospel is so sweet
God’s
kingdom’s gospel is so sweet,
as honey
cake its flavour;
if in one’s
heart it finds a seat
where one this
food can savour,
it is the
soul’s own honey fare
makes light
the heart and free from care
and in
Christ’s eyes most pleasing.
The word so
sweet for which we crave
God’s mouth
and heart have given,
it is a
kiss that God us gave
when to
despair we’re driven,
it is the
strength of God’s own heart,
a honeyed
cure that makes depart
sin’s every
pus-filled abcess.
If you by
sin are sore oppressed
which here
your soul has smitten,
this
heav’nly word’s to you addressed,
come, read
what has been written:
As true as
God lives ever more,
he never
will your sighs ignore,
but lovingly
receive you.
Just place
this word upon your tongue
and to your
pain apply it,
you’ll move
God’s heart if truly sprung
from your
heart’s depths you sigh it;
in Jesu’s
name accept God’s grace
and hasten
to its sweet embrace
for it is
granted gladly.
Come,
settle like a busy bee
in this
word’s meadow-flowers,
the
strength within seek earnestly,
suck deep
for many hours,
there honey
freely is bestowed,
the blood
that from Christ’s wounds once flowed
in God’s
word is discovered.
You think, if
you’d an upright heart
no doubt
would e’er assail you,
but when
you feel lust’s wicked dart
deep down,
you heart will fail you,
your heart will
quickly grow quite weak,
because you
lack the strength you seek
to banish
sin for ever.
Your
greatest sin can never face
or match at
any hour
the mighty
kingdom of God’s grace,
his true
word’s living power;
he who has
faith God’s grace shall know
no matter
he be high or low
or where on earth he’s living.
An Easter hymn by Brorson
Listen, you whose weeping
Listen, you
whose weeping
in salt
tears is steeping
where your Saviour
lies,
banish tears
and sadness,
now come
days of gladness,
joy and
peace your prize!
He aright
has used full
might
all death’s
shields to break and shatter,
and
completely scatter.
He has
risen truly
from the dead,
will duly
greet triumphantly;
angels you
can find there
nothing
else remains where
his grave
used to be.
Your gaze
stay
on where he
lay!
There you
should all pain be flinging
that your
heart was wringing!
Come, draw
nearer, merely
bury all that
nearly
made your
courage fail!
To his
flock make haste now,
tell with
joyful words how
he has made
death quail!
Say to each
who’s
fearful, teach
each
disciple, from death’s prison
Jesus Christ
is risen!
Tell your
heart stop fretting,
be its pain
forgetting,
there’s no
need for dread;
He has
quenched the fire,
risen to
inspire,
Jesus, who
was dead.
He broke free,
his bride
may she
likewise all
her foes be smiting,
be in God
delighting.
If your
sins are many,
Christ
says: every penny
of the debt
is paid.
Anger off
is driven,
grace now
freely given,
be no more dismayed;
Jesus died,
and swept
aside
all death’s
wrath and tribulation
for your sole
salvation.
Sin, can
you but glower?
Hell, where
is your power?
Death, where
is your sting?
Christ is
fully glorious,
I am now
victorious,
them he
down did fling!
God, who
gave
at Jesu’s
grave
us this
victory amazing,
we will e’er
be praising.
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