Poet and Contemplative
“In contemplation God teaches the soul very quietly and secretly, without its knowing how, without the sound of words” (Chapter 39, The Spiritual Canticle).
In the spirit of St. John of the Cross, this blog reflects on the contemplative experience and the poetic experience, sometimes separately and distinctly, sometimes in common, as mutually enlightening.
I will also post to this blog, from time to time, my own poetry, with a short interpretive note attached.
~ Fr. Bonaventure Sauer, OCD
The Lands of Sunrise and Sunset: Thirteen Found Poems - 2 of 13
The World is not Enough
A bird flew over and
Sat—there was nothing else to do.
Do not mistake its silence for pride
In time it spoke of
The Mournful Meadows below;
There no fiddling can be heard
In the glades
Of silentness, and no bird
Thrills the airy shades—
“O soft pipes, play on,
Not to the sensual ear, but,
More endeared, pipe to the spirits
Ditties of no tone.”
Wait, my soul, your solace comes at midnight
Appearing in some unexpected place
With quivering lips, and gleaming, moonlit face.
The bird returns and, into a blue-lit
Blustery sky, hollers: “Does spring hide
Its joy when buds and blossoms grow?
Does the sower sow by night,
Or the plowman in darkness plow?”
Hasn’t my horse
Some desirable knowledge, an enclosed
Meadow quite other than this sodden field?
I believe it does—for who can say
If the last to climb these stairs
Will be journeying up or down?
Vast, sultry lakes and cities,
Roads that cross mountains,
You fit easily into the millimeter of space
That’s squeezed between creation and myself;
I’m riding west towards the hills of sunset.
Written by Fr. Bonaventure, OCD