Sunday, March 17, 2013

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Christian Wiman (II)

It's hard for me to believe that it's been more than a month since my last post, and really a full three months since my last substantive post—i.e., where I wrote something of my own rather than quoted or excerpted someone or something else. I'm not quite sure these days how to make time for writing in this forum, but I would like to make the attempt. In the meantime, here is another wonderful poem from Christian Wiman's extraordinary collection, Every Riven Thing.

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Hammer is the Prayer

By Christian Wiman

There is no consolation in the thought of God,
he said, slamming another nail

in another house another havoc had half-taken.
Grace is not consciousness, nor is it beyond.

To hell with remembrance, to hell with heaven,
hammer is the prayer of the poor and the dying.

And as wind in some lordless random comes to rest,
and all the disquieted dust within,

peace came to the hinterlands of our minds,
too remote to know, but peace nonetheless.

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