The Carmel

Introduction by Fr. Bonaventure Sauer, OCD

One might define poetry, very simply, as “structured speech”—meaning that, since it is speech, even when it is written it should normally be read aloud, or at least read to oneself by sounding the words clearly in one’s head.

Anyway, given that poetry is structured speech, how it is structured can vary quite a bit. Some poetry is structured formally, through the use of meter and/or rhyme. Most of us in the West sort of presume poetry will take this shape. English poetry originally did not, though. But the influence of Italian and French poetry changed that.

There are, of course, other ways of structuring a poem. Walt Whitman, for example, used the natural rhythms of speaking in a way that gives his poetry a kind of oratorical, even oracular, quality.

And then there is Hebrew poetry, which uses the repetition of words, phrases, and images to shape the flow of meaning from line to line. Many of us are used to this way of structuring speech and so making poetry because of how we read the psalms aloud as we pray the Liturgy of the Hours.

And then there is free verse, which some consider unstructured, and so not really poetry. They might call it “prose with line breaks.” But good free verse—and, of course, there is such a thing as bad free verse—but good free verse is as structured as any poetry is.

I know for a fact that poets who write in free verse struggle to get the right form, with the right flow, using lines breaks to emphasize words or images or alter the flow or rhythm of the poem. And these poets can struggle and struggle to find just the right form—the right series of line breaks—that the poem itself demands. It’s not easy, not at all.

It reminds me of the time I was standing in front of a Rothko painting and the person, a friend, standing next to me said, “I could do that.” I turned to him and replied, “No, you couldn’t.” Art or poetry or music, when it is done right, always looks or sounds “easy,” although it isn’t. And if we don’t really understand it, if it doesn’t speak to us at all, well, then it looks or sounds like a mere “thing.” And anyone can make a mere “thing,” right?

Recently Tim Bete, OCDS, a member of the OCDS community in Dayton, who has submitted poetry to our website before, sent me two versions of one poem. In one version, the original, he wrote the poem in free verse. It is structured semantically, so to speak—that is, according to the flow of ideas or images. In the second version, he rewrote the poem using meter and rhyme. The poem, therefore, in this second version, reads as a poem according to what many would regard a more traditional poetic structure.

First of all, I hope you read both versions so as to garner the meaning of the poem in its fullness. The poem has lots to offer for reflection and meditation, whatever form it uses. And, in fact, by presenting it in two forms, it only enriches the meaning.

But also you might ask yourself—which version do you prefer? Personally I’d say the first version, the original, in the free verse, is the one I prefer. But as for why I do, I’ll leave that to the trees to know. Here I’ll just say that I think the poem reads better in its first incarnation.

And, so, Tim’s poem.

The Carmel

By Tim Bete, OCDS (original version)

Seeds of Love, sowed in my life
fell along rocky paths and weeds and thorns,
while in the distance stood good soil;
a garden; the Carmel.

I watched the garden from afar,
while love was snatched away
and scorched and choked;
I let love die and dared not approach
the good soil where my will
would have to die
for my soul to bloom.

Day after day
the view of the garden
became more painful to me,
like a mirror it reflected my sin
and made me avert my gaze.

So I built a wall,
stone by stone,
around the garden,
a wall taller than my head,
so I no longer had to see.

I basked in the false peace
the wall provided,
as if the wall had made
the garden disappear altogether,
as though breaking the mirror
made the sin it reflected no more.

The rocky paths and weeds and thorns
became my friends,
keeping my mind occupied
on things of the world and
I became comfortable as the weeds
choked and the thorns pierced.

But my wall was built in haste,
with gaps and holes,
so now and then I caught
a glimpse of the garden
in the distance,
illuminated by a ray of sunshine.

I was surprised one day to see
the Gardener, looking out at me
through a hole.

He smiled and I turned away,
ashamed because
He knew the wall was mine.

I looked up again
to see if He was there,
but He was gone.

I searched each day to see His face;
now and again I would catch Him
peering through the hole;
looking for me.
It made me happy,
softening my heart
and drawing my soul.

One day I noticed a small entrance
where rocks had once been stacked,
stones moved aside by Him,
creating a narrow gate,
an opening to the garden;
an invitation.

I peeked in the gate and
saw Him tending flowers,
His back to me.
I sensed He knew I was there
and I entered to watch Him work
where there were no rocky paths
nor weeds nor thorns but only good soil.

When He turned and saw me,
there was no surprise in His face,
only the same smile
that had first drawn me in,
only an accepting love and
eyes that reflected who I truly am.

In the reflection I saw my sin
but I did not turn away,
for His love was also there,
so much greater than my sin;
a love so merciful and compassionate,
I knew His garden had been created for me.

He smiled again,
looked into my eyes and said,
“You built the wall so you
would not see the garden
but once inside the wall,
you cannot see the outside world.
For the same wall that kept you out,
can also keep you safely within.”

And I cried,
for His offer of love was so great;
to remain with Him in the Carmel
where no rocks nor weeds nor thorns exist,
but only good soil.

On that day,
I asked Him to replace
my will with His own
and began to let my will die
so my soul could bloom.

*

The Carmel

By Tim Bete, OCDS (new version)

Regretful Love that fell into my days
among the rocky paths and weeds and thorns
ignored by me as I so often strayed
rejecting hope for I remained forlorn.
In distance stood a vineyard’s placid plot
while Love was snatched and scorched and choked away
my longing hid, eclipsing faith forgot
all prayer was lost, coarse fear there had its sway.
Despair with dread, I watched it from afar
my doubting soul, desire’s soft wish to dwell
I let Love die while thorns on me left scars
near Holy ground; a garden, the Carmel.
Such weak desire caused me still to rebel
near Holy ground; a garden, the Carmel.

But day by day. the garden view pierced deep
a painful sight reflecting all my sin
the image clear, oft causing me to weep
averted gaze for torment blazed within.
I built a wall far taller than my eyes
stone upon stone ’til view of garden ceased
but soul’s sight knew, Love it could not deny
my buffered view, misled by foul false peace.
The rocky paths and weeds and thorns awoke
deceitful care and friendship they proclaimed
so weak my will that I could not invoke
the Spirit nor my lovely Lord’s fair name.
A darkness on my heart so quickly fell
near Holy ground; a garden, the Carmel.

My barricade was built in too much haste
with gaps and holes throughout its rock facade
so now and then I spied a ray of grace
come shining through a window left for God.
And then one day I was amazed to see
while meditating on the wall awhile
the Gard’ner’s calm eyes, looking back at me
I turned away just as I saw Him smile.
I felt ashamed, He knew the wall was mine
I looked again to see if He was there
within my soul, sense I could not define
but He was gone, my voice arose in prayer.
To praise my Love who fear from me dispelled
near Holy ground; a garden, the Carmel.

Surprise to me, where rocks had once been lain
stones moved aside to make a narrow gate
an overture to let my Savior reign
with graces rare, my soul to recreate.
I walked inside, He sensed that I had come
garden fair, where no weeds or rocks abound
accepting Love, He knew what I’d become
yet grace He shared deep in the fertile ground.
I knew at once His garden was for me
I cried out loud, His offer filled my heart
He longed for us, together we would be
for always and our lives would never part.
On my weak knees I praised Him as I knelt
on Holy ground; a garden, the Carmel.

And on that day, I asked Him to replace

my will with His, and felt my God’s embrace.