Thank you! Honestly, the rhyme is all practice. And a lot of helpful feedback from a lot of songwriters trying to get me to phrase things more naturally.
I learn so much from you Substack poets. The iambic pentameter breathes like a sob. I swear you were reading my mind or listening to me tell God a thing or two this morning.
I love "not even a leaf falls / except as medicine" — what a lovely reference to Ezekiel.
I love the reversals of the thirst being swallowed and "it takes our death, and then the dead thing lives" and even the inversion of "The Lord taketh away—but, too, he gives".
And the image of the Lord "silent as the unmoved stone" takes my breath away— only to have it given back to me again at the end. Lovely.
This is wonderful Kate, the sentiment puts me in mind of Hopkins' poem "Nondum" where he grapples with the blindness of faith. Also, I wish you would write in pentameter more often, you treat the metre with an incredibly natural phrasing.
Very different from your usual style, Kate. I like the longer stanzas and the way they stretch and play your normal sense for melody. The second to last stanza is the best, I think. "It takes our death, and then the dead thing lives." The sense of unnaturalness you achieve with all the paralleling of opposites. Great stuff.
Thank you so much! I originally wrote it in couplets, but when I went to type it out, there had to be a break after the first three couplets. And the rest of the couplets just organized themselves into six-line stanzas. It was very strange.
Your poem beautifully captures and then expands in a very poignant, personal way the promise of 1 Corinthians 2:9, esp for someone overcome with grief: "Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him." Thank you.
This is beautiful. I don't know how you get such strong rhymes to fall so naturally. Technically and theologically stunning.
Thank you! Honestly, the rhyme is all practice. And a lot of helpful feedback from a lot of songwriters trying to get me to phrase things more naturally.
I learn so much from you Substack poets. The iambic pentameter breathes like a sob. I swear you were reading my mind or listening to me tell God a thing or two this morning.
Your allusion to Mark 9:24 sings from the end of its stanza. Longing for the day death is finally defeated.
This is one of your best, Kate.
I love "not even a leaf falls / except as medicine" — what a lovely reference to Ezekiel.
I love the reversals of the thirst being swallowed and "it takes our death, and then the dead thing lives" and even the inversion of "The Lord taketh away—but, too, he gives".
And the image of the Lord "silent as the unmoved stone" takes my breath away— only to have it given back to me again at the end. Lovely.
Thank you so much!
This is amazing! “roots of death…makes them His own”
Thank you!
This is wonderful Kate, the sentiment puts me in mind of Hopkins' poem "Nondum" where he grapples with the blindness of faith. Also, I wish you would write in pentameter more often, you treat the metre with an incredibly natural phrasing.
Thank you. All my years in theater helped make iambic pentameter ordinary.
Very different from your usual style, Kate. I like the longer stanzas and the way they stretch and play your normal sense for melody. The second to last stanza is the best, I think. "It takes our death, and then the dead thing lives." The sense of unnaturalness you achieve with all the paralleling of opposites. Great stuff.
Thank you so much! I originally wrote it in couplets, but when I went to type it out, there had to be a break after the first three couplets. And the rest of the couplets just organized themselves into six-line stanzas. It was very strange.
Your poem beautifully captures and then expands in a very poignant, personal way the promise of 1 Corinthians 2:9, esp for someone overcome with grief: "Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him." Thank you.
Thank you so much!