speak now forever the endless shout
a poem of letting go
the light-minder, 2023
For most of my life, I have been in a struggle between myself and the God I was spoon-fed every day when I was growing up. And even though now I consider myself mostly an atheist, I cannot separate out the God, from the Me. So, in my poems, I just let it all go. I don’t care what is true and what is real and what is entirely made up because it no longer matters. I just open and open and open. Which is perhaps what life is really, an endless opening and opening. And closing. And opening again.
speak now forever the endless shout (published in Psaltery & Lyre, 2021) this is for you, little wee thing of ears, wee body of mouth this burden is for you the better to hear the better to shout this is for you, little swiss roll cream-filled pilgrim, little church mouse housefly, entirely common, the son of man has come to lift you, to fill you, to laden you cinnamon rolls jelly rolls heavy belly rolls heavy, pressed down, this burden is yours the son of man has come to outfit you, little pack mule greyed down and sturdy built to carry all these, all this, the son of man has come to school you tutor the pain, tutor the lonely, the son of man has come and you will learn and learn and learn and weary with the learning of these lessons, weary the unraveling, weary the perpetual peeling back deeper in little onion, tiny nut of fear this is for you. the holy river yawns, gapes open, the flooded river reaches the stubborn, broken, little gumshoe, enormous glasses, look up! wee angry frightened burdened tongue-tied plastic-wrapped caramel-centered bandit, look up! the son of man has come. this song is for you, you little periscoped tippy-toed curiosity, be still. not for nothing did God pluck you, an apple, a peach, an almond-eyed toddler, not for nothing, you little purse so pink, so full of tears and watermelon, there is work to be done the son of man has come to compassionate you, to pet your oily, seventh-grade head look up! you little wail of burgeoning body, great fiery furnace of brain belching the corridors and doors, look up! listen. be still. the son of man has come to braid your hair and set you atop a great hill so that you will listen with your outsized ears and heart. little precious, press your body upon the body of the earth and all the shattered bones and sinews and as-yet-unstructured wee ones waiting there to hear you say it. say it. that which is broken. say it! say it now with all your loudness and fears loosened, unfettered. say it! that which is buried, crusted over, bruised eternally. say it! all that which is broken and lifted and balmed and tendered and corrected, for you. say it! say it now.
Oh Fuck, Rebecca.
If you don't mind me saying so - that really is a fucking burden.
Every time I read one of these poems you write about God - which are really about how the idea God was hammered into you, pressed into you like a branding iron when your mind and heart were still so young and new and not yet set - every time I read one I think: beautifully written, Rebecca but
what
a
fucking
burden
to
carry.
So when you subtitle this one as "a poem of letting go" I find myself saying "Yes! Yes! Let go of it!" - but I do know that it's not so simple.
However you also write "even though now I consider myself mostly an atheist, I cannot separate out the God, from the Me"
So... my (possibly simplistic) thought is this:
Don't try.
All you will do is disassemble yourself and cause yourself more pain, unnecessarily. They made God a part of you when you were too young to have a say in that and this is who you are - with all your wild creativity and love and sometimes anger and everything else a good human has.
As you know, I am NOT myself a believer in God - at least not in any way the Churches speak of God, but I do know that I am surrounded by - and inextricably a part of - something infinitely greater than myself, as are you, as are we all.
Self awareness, consciousness, creativity - Poetry included - are essential elements of that greater thing - a divine mystery if you like. They are the God inside you - not the neurotic, guilt inducing, fear generating caricatures that you were taught.
Self awareness, consciousness, creativity - Poetry included - though not always easy, are not a burden. They are a gift, a light- something that help us fly.
Please forgive my intrusion. I fear it reads like a lecture. I know that I don't really know what it is like to be you. But I do know you have divinity within you, and it need not be a burden.
Very best Wishes - Dave
I love how you've written this, Rebecca...the poem feels like its voice keeps rising and reaches a crescendo in the final stanza...