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(Note: the reference is to church windows; this poem is part of Herbert's long sequence The Church, which in turn is part of The Temple, which contains most of his English poetry.) THE WINDOWS LORD, how can man preach thy eternall word ? He is a brittle crazie glasse : Yet in thy temple
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I can't remember whether it was before or after the Ford accusations became public, but at some point a couple of weeks ago I said of the Kavanaugh hearings that their one absolutely certain effect would be a net increase in the amount of hate in this country. Rod Dreher put it a bit more
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EPISTLE TO BE LEFT IN THE EARTH …It is colder now, there are many stars, we are drifting North by the Great Bear, the leaves are falling, The water is stone in the scooped rocks, to southward Red sun grey air: the crows are
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I'm writing this post on Thursday afternoon and scheduling it to be posted on Monday, as I'm going to be out of town for the next few days, and am a bit compulsive about not missing a week. I say "writing" but actually I'm mostly transcribing, as I don't really have time to compose anything
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FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY DEATH Every year without knowing it I have passed the day When the last fires will wave to me And the silence will set out Tireless traveler Like the beam of a lightless star Then I will no longer Find myself in life as in a strange garment Surprised at
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Television is a drug, we've been told for decades. It really is. I don't like to think I'm hooked on it, and I can say in a certain sense that I "don't watch television." But that certain sense is what the phrase used to suggest (and I guess still does in many cases)–watching the stuff
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FIRST ODE FOR A VERY YOUNG LADY Shamming accuracy I was going to say that she is spherical… She is not, she consists of two spheres joined together by not much of a neck and six symmetrical protuberances ears, arms, legs– plus a small knob in the centre of the smaller sphere, the one on
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In response to recommendations from Rob G and Janet, I recently read Julien Green's Each Man In His Darkness. Well, I guess it wasn't only in response to them. I've run across Green's name now and then over the years in discussions of modern Catholic novelists. It usually turns up toward the end, in an almost
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Ent. When spring unfolds the beechen-leaf and sap is in the bough,When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow, When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain air,Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair! Entwife. When Spring is come
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I finally decided to pay a little attention to the Jordan Peterson phenomenon, which I have pretty much been ignoring. I first heard of him by way of this post by Neo-neocon, in which she discusses the video in which Peterson is interviewed by an apparently well-known British journalist named Cathy Newman. I soon realized
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Light On Dark Water 