First Selections for 2017 – Year of Poetry

Because so much of the social media traffic has been about how horrendous 2016 has been in terms of prominent deaths and political upsets, I thought I'd start out the first day of 2017, a Sunday, with something serious.  So I got out my copy of Cowper's poems, and started reading the Olney Hymns.  I limited myself to the first twenty-five, and of course there were two very familiar ones in that section:  "O! For a Closer Walk with God" and "There is a fountain filled with blood"—both mainstays of English hymnody.  I was a little surprised how much I found to appreciate in some of the others, since by reputation in most of my college studies they had not been very fairly characterized.  They were full of a sense of conviction of sin, but not in a judgmental or accusatory way.  They're very out of fashion, but I enjoyed them. The two most famous worked for me as poetry more than did the rest, which were more gnomic or advisory—versified discourse more than what I'd call poetry.  Very different from lyric poetry or even the Psalms; maybe "domesticated" (in the best sense) would be a better description.  I decided none of them were appropriate for posting without a much longer commentary than I felt up to providing today, so I cast my eyes about for something else.

There's a book of poems called PANAMA PATCHWORK that I've had for more than 25 years, but never really looked at much.  My copy is the 6th edition, 1920, of a collection first published around the turn of the 20th century.  James Stanley Gilbert, edited by his friend Tracy Robinson.  I found two poems appropriate to the passing of a terrible old year (De Profundis) and hope for the new year (A New Year's Rainbow). Here I offer them for your perusal:

De Profundis

                                Almighty Dispenser of good things and ill,

                                       Purveyor of foods that delight or annoy;

                                Thou that doth every man's little cup fill

                                       With draughts to be drained of sorrow or joy:

                                Disgusted we come to the Presence to-day,

                                       Sans flattering speeches of moment and pith,

                                But simply and briefly and bluntly to say

                                       That we firmly believe that Job was a myth.

                                We are weary of patience and all of that cant

                                       About love that can chasten love gasping for breath.

                                We are minus that faith that can cheerfully rant

                                       Of the blessings of life in the presence of death.

                                We do not believe in the silver that lines

                                       The horse-blanket clouds spread above us for weeks,

                                For we know all the silver is safe in the mines

                                       That is not in the pockets of somebody's breeks.

                                We are weary of funerals, weary of tears,

                                       We are weary of pushing unpushable walls;

                                We are weary of leveling mountains of fears—

                                       Of building a Hope that instantly falls.

                                We have given to Misery more than her half,

                                       We have rendered to Gloom more years than are his,

                                We have moped long enough!  Great God let us laugh

                                       Before we forget what a laugh is!

A New Year's Rainbow

                                            It rose this morning out of the sea,

                                                   Just as the sun was peeping,

                                            With glances bright at the distant night

                                                   That still in the West was sleeping.

                                            The rain that in the sombre dawn

                                                   Like tears from the clouds was falling

                                            Had passed away while the god of day

                                                   The darkness was enthralling.

                                            And it said, "Faint heart, take cheer!  Take cheer,

                                                   And behold the sign and token

                                            I bring to thee from over the sea,

                                                   Of the promise never broken!

                                            The grief I follow shall ne'er return:

                                                   Oh, list to my joyous message!

                                            Dost thou not know that my gleaming bow

                                                   Of a glad new year is presage?"