Poem for Sunday

Spell of Creation
By Kathleen Raine

Within the flower there lies a seed,
Within the seed there springs a tree,
Within the tree there spreads a wood.

In the wood there burns a fire,
And in the fire there melts a stone,
Within the stone a ring of iron.

Within the ring there lies an O
Within the O there looks an eye,
In the eye there swims a sea,

And in the sea reflected sky,
And in the sky there shines the sun,
Within the sun a bird of gold.

Within the bird there beats a heart,
And from the heart there flows a song,
And in the song there sings a word.

In the word there speaks a world,
A word of joy, a world of grief,
From joy and grief there springs my love.

Oh love, my love, there springs a world,
And on the world there shines a sun
And in the sun there burns a fire,

Within the fire consumes my heart
And in my heart there beats a bird,
And in the bird there wakes an eye,

Within the eye, earth, sea and sky,
Earth, sky and sea within an O
Lie like the seed within the flower.

--------


That glorious poem discovered via Poet's Choice in the Sunday Washington Post book world, by a poet Edward Hirsch describes as "an enigmatic and mystical nature poet of great rectitude and seriousness [who] believed with W. B. Yeats, her second master in poetry, that 'poetry and religion are the same thing.'" I need to get one of her collections ASAP.

Spent nearly all day yesterday doing family Rosh Hashanah activities, at synagogue, then at family dinner; today my husband's parents are coming and we may all (both families) go to Great Falls to see the river near flood crest. Also have to do the weekly review round-up which is annoyingly time-consuming as I have to read a pile of Enterprise reviews and wonder why I didn't think of certain things and how some people can bother to care about other things.

Meanwhile, I can get nothing else accomplished -- not even proper atonement for my sins of the past year...as if -- because Faramir has moved into my head and is trying to tell me a long, porny alternative post-LOTR epic whose schmoop factor is excessive even by my standards. And he won't shut up. I blame and Lucius Malfoy for this, because apparently my brain requires some possibility of happily-ever-after at all times. And when I ask The Boromir Who Lives In My Head how he feels about this, he's all corny and happy about it. *shakes head*