Tuesday, July 13, 2010

verba quaesitaque

There are few things as compelling of poetry as being stuck in a bus for seven hours. And thus comes this blank novena.

In fields of purple vetch and goldenrod
I asked my Lord "Is't here?" He answered "No."

In time the wood was turned to red and gold;
"An unconsuming Flame? Now surely, here?"
In turn my Lord: "Not here, though not far-off."

Deep in the darkest month, the snows without
Could not have chilled my joy. "Is Heaven here?"
"Not here, Sir King; here lies the road thereto.
Keep on as now begin'st, thou shalt there come."

It's admittedly laconic --- a hint for who doesn't already know the allusion, the last person speaking is the Bishop St. Remigius. The earlier replies are meant to be the voice of God, speaking through the natural law which is, of course, written on all our hearts.

Anyways, the given word is "Month"; the question... you can figure it out, I'm sure.

some guy on the street


Enbrethiliel said...


Oh, beautiful! The passing of the seasons is truly moving.

I missed the allusion, as usual, but even if I didn't know what it meant, I'd still love your poem, Bat!

Belfry Bat said...

But I told you this story especially! Have you forgotten already? Goodness me...

Well, no worries. Go google Remigius again and get back to me.

Dauvit Balfour said...

Excellently done. The wait was at least worth it.

Belfry Bat said...

Dauvit, Enbrethiliel, you are too kind.

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