Tobiah said to Raphael: "... I have been told that she has already been given in marriage seven times, and that each time her bridegroom has died in the bridal room. They say it is a demon that loves her, and I am afraid." Book of Tobit
They say it is a demon, takes my grooms. I don't
deny it. Gossips raise their hands to hide
their whispers. Merchants thrust out glossy dates,
red jars of greenest oil for my hair. Oiled, it flashes
and proud men duck their eyes. And it may be
a demon. I know that something curls
with me, neither snake nor smoke, but a twist
like quick water. It shines. It smells
of storms. The men smell it, as they edge
into the bridal room. They are afraid, then,
of a small woman perched modest
on the cot's edge. My mother folds
another bride price in linen. Outside the window,
my father digs a grave, his spade
chuckling. The groom
uncovers my hair. The water wells
and rises. Seven times now. A holy
number.
No one will touch me.
After years, a stranger comes, a kinsman, his heart
beating hard, an angel beside him
whispering spells. Still, there is something
in his eyes I like:
a worship and
a wariness.
Gotta love the Bible: you can't make this stuff up. Butler's Lives of the Saints is even stranger. Reading it, I'm thrilled to be Catholic. We get all the best weirdness, all the lush strange rich delights.
My grandmother's church, which is Dutch Christian Reformed (a strict Calvinist Sect), is a white building full of wood benches, clear, square tall windows. The carpet is burgundy and a bit thread-bare. There is green astroturf on the stone steps outside. The church I went to until quite recently, St. Mary's, has ceiling frescos in one style, stained glass in another, stations in a third, an altarpiece--two stories tall--in a fourth, fifth, and sixth. (An architectural style officially called "Catholic Tacky," I believe.) A Marian shrine burning wrought-iron banks of candles in red glass. A font in the back with a hard-water ring. A Milagre in the lobby that seems to collect offerings. And a soup kitchen downstairs.
This is the first good new poem I've written this week -- though I have been working hard and writing is going well, the magic snapping together of a poem is hard to get. I did get four submissions in the mail -- which makes 10 in circulation at the moment. Perhaps one or two will be good news. Though it's been a good year so far: acceptances from Malahat, Event, Grain, PRISM, and Fiddlehead.
Today I'm exuberant, I want abundance, want too much.
The first time I visted a Catholic church on All Saints morning--I think it was also the first time I'd ever smelled incense--was a revelation (no pun intended.) It's still a puzzle to me why the fundamentalists are so afraid of beauty. Or anything much bigger than themselves, it seems.
Interesting, the link didn't show...well, if you feel like wandering over to my homepage, I have a section of Biblical poetry - Bible Stories for Young Girls.
heh heh
Very true. Raised Lutheran, there is very little for me to sink my teeth into. We're just all so - polite.
Old Testament is good eatin' tho. On the off chance that you aren't innundated with people begging you to read their stuff...
I recently went to visit a cemetery where a lot of my relatives are buried. The church, cemetery, and park are actually called Embarrass, and pronounced that way! It's one of those places you can hardly believe is real, as though it were made only to be written about, because when you are in the park picnicking and playing on the playground equipment, the cemetery is surrounding you.
I came across your writing in "A Room of One's Own," and was delighted to find this website. I'm curious, why was "The Patron Saint of Women Thrown from Windows" in prose form in the magazine instead of broken into lines like it is here? This website is great...I really enjoy your writing and I think reading about your writing process has helped me with mine. Thanks.
I'm slowly getting through old comments:
K: Great site! I'll have spend some time enjoying it. As you can tell, I'm deep into Bible stuff at the moment.
Pat: Bigger than themselves, hmmm... I always assumed it was a lingering reaction against the excesses of the Reformation era church: a sort of baby and bathwater deal.
Amanda: Thanks, glad you like the site. "Patron Saint" (and "Rooms") were both printed in paragraph form (with no line breaks) in *Room of One's Own* without my permission. I was suprised and upset.