1. On a dark night, Kindled in love with yearnings—oh, happy chance!—
I went forth without being observed, My house being now at rest.2. In darkness and secure, By the secret ladder, disguised—oh, happy chance!—
In darkness and in concealment, My house being now at rest.3. In the happy night, In secret, when none saw me,
Nor I beheld aught, Without light or guide, save that which burned in my heart.4. This light guided me More surely than the light of noonday
To the place where he (well I knew who!) was awaiting me— A place where none appeared.5. Oh, night that guided me, Oh, night more lovely than the dawn,
Oh, night that joined Beloved with lover, Lover transformed in the Beloved!6. Upon my flowery breast, Kept wholly for himself alone,
There he stayed sleeping, and I caressed him, And the fanning of the cedars made a breeze.7. The breeze blew from the turret As I parted his locks;
With his gentle hand he wounded my neck And caused all my senses to be suspended.8. I remained, lost in oblivion; My face I reclined on the Beloved.
All ceased and I abandoned myself, Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.
John of the Cross from Dark Night of the Soul
Archive for poem
1. On a dark night, Kindled in love with yearnings—oh, happy chance!—
I went forth without being observed, My house being now at rest.2. In darkness and secure, By the secret ladder, disguised—oh, happy chance!—
In darkness and in concealment, My house being now at rest.3. In the happy night, In secret, when none saw me,
Nor I beheld aught, Without light or guide, save that which burned in my heart.4. This light guided me More surely than the light of noonday
To the place where he (well I knew who!) was awaiting me— A place where none appeared.5. Oh, night that guided me, Oh, night more lovely than the dawn,
Oh, night that joined Beloved with lover, Lover transformed in the Beloved!6. Upon my flowery breast, Kept wholly for himself alone,
There he stayed sleeping, and I caressed him, And the fanning of the cedars made a breeze.7. The breeze blew from the turret As I parted his locks;
With his gentle hand he wounded my neck And caused all my senses to be suspended.8. I remained, lost in oblivion; My face I reclined on the Beloved.
All ceased and I abandoned myself, Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.
John of the Cross from Dark Night of the Soul
Just what does “Wordsmith” mean? What images does that title/phrase bring to your mind? I certainly envision a blacksmith pounding away at raw bars of iron. Stretching and pulling the metal to the length needed. Bending it into what ever shape is desired for both functional and ascetic purposes. Reheating and tempering the metal until it has the strength needed to perform the task at hand.
I see the “Wordsmith”, the poet, the writer as no different. Picking and choosing their words with care and precision. Forming sentences with these words by placing them just so. To change any aspect of the combination of these words would be to totally alter the desired effect.
And so I humbly bow before nothing more than a single sentence. A sentence with a depth of meaning as deep as the oceans depth. A meaning that to some will always remain incomprehensible. Thanks Robert, for a sentence that like a piece of jerky must be chewed on and contemplated before one can swallow it.
Self-annihilation
in surrender
to the real thing
is an acceptable
end
Search
Recent Posts
Copyright © 2012 All Rights Reserved
Recent Comments