Tuesday, February 8, 2022

Revelation

My afternoon walk takes me through a grove of pines.  Beside a turning of the path is a small group of bushes, sheltered beneath the boughs overhead, growing amid years of fallen needles and leaves. The bushes are widely-spaced, open-branched candelabras, varying between four to eight feet tall.  Over time, they have become a harbinger of spring, for they are often the bearers of the first green buds of late winter.  

And so it is again: a few days ago, as I idly made my way, I noticed buds at the tip of nearly every twig, each lit by the low sun, most still folded tight, others already unfolding.  Before long, small white blossoms will appear.  I was startled by this sudden green presence. Sleepwalking once again.  But the World always finds a way to shake us awake.

          A Thicket in Lleyn

I was no tree walking.
I was still.  They ignored me,
the birds, the migrants
on their way south.  They re-leafed
the trees, budding them
with their notes.  They filtered through
the boughs like sunlight,
looked at me from three feet
off, their eyes blackberry bright,
not seeing me, not detaching me
from the withies, where I was
caged and they free.
                                     They would have perched
on me, had I had nourishment
in my fissures.  As it was,
they netted me in their shadows,
brushed me with sound, feathering the arrows
of their own bows, and were gone,
leaving me to reflect on the answer
to a question I had not asked.
"A repetition in time of the eternal
I AM."  Say it.  Don't be shy.
Escape from your mortal cage
in thought.  Your migrations will never 
be over.  Between two truths
there is only the mind to fly with.
Navigate by such stars as are not
leaves falling from life's
deciduous tree, but spray from the fountain
of the imagination, endlessly
replenishing itself out of its own waters.

R. S. Thomas, Experimenting with an Amen (Macmillan 1986).

Duncan Grant (1885-1978), "Charleston Barn" (1942)

"A repetition in time of the eternal I AM" is a variation by Thomas on Coleridge's definition of "the primary Imagination": "The primary IMAGINATION I hold to be the living Power and prime Agent of all human Perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM."  (Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Biographia Literaria (1817) (edited by Adam Roberts) (Edinburgh University Press 2014), page 205.)  Thomas' alteration of the language is interesting, for he seems to broaden the scope of Coleridge's conception: Coleridge is seeking to define the nature of "the Primary Imagination," but Thomas expands this into an observation on the nature of our existence.

However, I shouldn't get too carried away with this parsing of words, for I would never wish to sell Coleridge short when it comes to contemplations upon eternity or upon the eternal and infinite "I AM": they are arguably in the foreground and background of all his thought and work.  For instance, one finds them again in the final sentence of Biographia Literaria:

"It is Night, sacred Night! the upraised Eye views only the starry Heaven which manifests itself alone: and the outward Beholding is fixed on the sparks twinkling in the aweful depth, though Suns of other Worlds, only to preserve the Soul steady and collected in its pure Act of inward Adoration to the great I AM, and to the filial WORD that re-affirmeth it from Eternity to Eternity, whose choral Echo is the Universe."

Ibid, page 414.  ("Aweful" is an archaic spelling often used by Coleridge, particularly in his younger years.  He uses it in this sense: "Solemnly impressive; sublimely majestic."  (The Oxford English Dictionary, Second Edition (Clarendon Press 1989), page 833.)  The spelling appears odd to modern eyes, but the presence of "awe" in the word is lovely.  It's a shame that this sense of the word has been lost.)

With respect to Coleridge and "eternity," words written soon after Coleridge's death by Charles Lamb, his friend from childhood, are telling and touching:

"When I heard of the death of Coleridge, it was without grief.  It seemed to me that he long had been on the confines of the next world, — that he had a hunger for eternity.  I grieved then that I could not grieve.  But, since, I feel how great a part he was of me.  His great and dear spirit haunts me.  I cannot think a thought, I cannot make a criticism on men and books, without an ineffectual turning and reference to him.  He was the proof and touchstone of all my cognitions. . . . Never saw I his likeness, nor probably the world can see again."

Charles Lamb, in E. V. Lucas, The Life of Charles Lamb, Volume II (Methuen 1905), page 266.  Coleridge died on July 25, 1834.  Lamb's remarks were written in November of that year, "in the album of Mr. Keymer, a bookseller."  Ibid.  Lamb died soon after, on December 27.

Duncan Grant, "The Doorway" (1929)

A recurring theme in the poetry of R. S. Thomas (one might even say the theme of his poetry) is the obdurate silence of God, and Thomas' impatience with, and ultimate acceptance of, that silence.  The fact that Thomas was an Anglican priest certainly adds an interesting and deeper dimension to the situation.  

At the same time, however, Thomas' preoccupation with this baffling, provocative, and powerful silence takes place in a World of immanence.  And, at unexpected times and in unexpected places, all suddenly becomes clear: Something is there.  As in "A Thicket in Lleyn."  Or as in this:

                 Arrival

Not conscious
       that you have been seeking
              suddenly
       you come upon it

the village in the Welsh hills
              dust free
       with no road out
but the one you came in by.

              A bird chimes
       from a green tree
the hour that is no hour
       you know.  The river dawdles
to hold a mirror for you
where you may see yourself
       as you are, a traveller
              with the moon's halo
       above him, who has arrived
       after long journeying where he
              began, catching this
       one truth by surprise
that there is everything to look forward to.

R. S. Thomas, Later Poems (Macmillan 1983).

Duncan Grant, "Laughton Castle" (c. 1930)

"He had a hunger for eternity."  There are worse things to hunger after.  And "there is everything to look forward to."  All of this inevitably brings me to my favorite poem by Thomas, which has appeared here six times over the past eleven years.  So please bear with me, dear readers: it needs to be here.

             The Bright Field

I have seen the sun break through 
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it.  But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
the treasure in it.  I realize now 
that I must give all that I have
to possess it.  Life is not hurrying

on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past.  It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

R. S. Thomas, Laboratories of the Spirit (Macmillan 1975).

Duncan Grant, "Girl at the Piano" (1940)

16 comments:

John Maruskin said...

Wonderful. Thank you. I started a commonplace book this year and will enter “Arrival” and “The Bright Field” today. “The Bright Field” is one of my favorite poems, too. Leaved, bare or iced, the southeast scrub edge of the meadow I walk most mornings scintillates when Shiny rises. That always reminds me of “The Bright Field”; in fact, I don’t think I really saw it until I read “The Bright Field.” “catching this/one truth by surprise/that there is everything to look forward to.” Yes, indeed. Thanks again. Have a splendid week.

Esther said...

What an extremely thought-provoking post! I look forward to delving into the friendship between Charles Lamb and Coleridge which your quote so beautifully brought to our attention. And The Bright Field, which I first read here a few years ago, remains a personal favorite that still brings chills.

Coleridge’s final sentence of Biographia Literaria ties together so beautifully "I AM" (the name God called himself when talking to Moses), the “filial WORD” (the name applied to the Son of God in the opening chapter of John), and the “choral Echo” of which we are all a part. Dorothy Sayers’ musings on the work of the creative artist are very much in line with Coleridge’s “repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM.” At the end of her play, The Zeal of Thy House, she has an angel say God “hath made man in His own image, a maker and craftsman like Himself, a little mirror of His triune majesty.”

GretchenJoanna said...

It is easy to bear with you, to bear the reading of "The Bright Field" again. And the others by Thomas that you have shared are very welcome! It hasn't been very many years since I first read a poem by him, and I have been fascinated, but flighty about continuing. So I really appreciate your introducing me to a couple more.

You prompted me to go back and see which of his poems affected me the most. In "The Absence" he made me think of "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven":

"What resource have I
other than the emptiness without him of my whole
being, a vacuum he may not abhor?"


And in "The Moor" he definitely knows that immanence:

"I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread."


The silence of God can be a huge presence. Who needs words?

St. Orberose said...

We need to reintroduce "aweful": something that by its sublimity induces awe.

"I was no tree walking.
I was still. They ignored me,
the birds, the migrants
on their way south."

I detect a tinge of envy for not blending in like the trees.

Stephen Pentz said...

Mr. Maruskin: It's good to hear from you again. Thank you very much for your kind words about the post.

". . . in fact, I don't think I really saw it until I read 'The Bright Field'." Thank you so much for that. It articulates perfectly the wondrous ability of poetry to wake us up. One always hopes to encounter poems that have that sort of impact in our lives. One never knows when, and how, the coy "I AM" will arrive in our lives.

As always, thank you for visiting. I hope that all is well.

Stephen Pentz said...

Esther: I'm pleased you liked the post. Thank you for your kind words.

Lamb's thoughts on Coleridge are touching, aren't they? My knowledge of Lamb and his works is extremely limited, but, from reading about Coleridge's life, their long friendship (they met at Christ's Hospital school when they were schoolboys) does, as you say, seem worth exploring further. Knowing Coleridge, I presume it had its ups and downs. As I'm sure you know, "This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison" is "addressed to Charles Lamb," whose visit to Coleridge led to the poem.

As for "The Bright Field," it is a poem that has had a strong impact on many of us, as evidenced by your comment, and those above of Mr. Maruskin and GretchenJoanna. It is indeed wonderful.

Finally, thank you so much for your wonderful thoughts about the final sentence of Biographia Literaria, which are quite an education for me. Thank you for the information about Dorothy Sayers, and, in particular, for sharing the quote from her play (which is new to me): it certainly does parallel Coleridge's thoughts, doesn't it? And thank you as well for mentioning "choral Echo." ". . . whose choral Echo is the Universe" always leaves me shaking my head in wonder at its beauty and power.

As ever, thank you very much for stopping by. With new green buds arriving here (as well as some magnolia blossom buds I saw today), it won't be long before the sakura arrive where you are. Take care.

Stephen Pentz said...

GretchenJoanna: Thank you very much for your kind words.

And thank you as well for sharing the passages from Thomas' poems, which fit well here. There is a great deal to digest when it comes to his poetry, isn't there? I have his Collected Poems: 1945-1990 beside me as I write this, and it is 533 pages! (There is also a Collected Later Poems, which is more than 300 pages.)

If I may, here are a few of my favorites: "Abersoch," "The River," "Llananno," "Period," "A Marriage," "The Other," and "Gift." These are the closing lines of "The Other," which, I think, complement the lines you quote from "The Absence": "And the thought comes/of that other being who is awake, too,/letting our prayers break on him,/not like this for a few hours,/but for days, years, for eternity."

"Gift" is worth quoting in its entirety, since I believe it goes well both with "The Bright Field," and with the lovely closing two sentences of your comment:

Gift

Some ask the world
and are diminished
in the receiving
of it. You gave me

only this small pool
that the more I drink
from, the more overflows
me with sourceless light.

Thank you for visiting again. It is always a pleasure to hear from you.

Stephen Pentz said...

St. Orberose: Yes, I agree wholeheartedly: "aweful" should be reintroduced. Your description is perfect. As I'm sure you know, in his earlier years (particularly when his friendship with Wordsworth was at its height), "awe" and "aweful" can often be found in his writings. Here's a lovely example from his notebooks: "There have been times when looking up beneath the sheltring [sic] Trees, I could Invest every leaf with Awe." (Notebook Entry 1510, September 1803.) Thus: "aweful leaves."

As for Thomas' "tinge of envy" and the migrating birds: as you may know, Thomas was an avid bird-watcher. One of his loveliest poems, an elegy to his wife, begins: "We met/under a shower/of bird-notes." It closes:

And she,
who in life
had done everything
with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
for the shedding
of one sigh no
heavier than a feather.

R. S. Thomas, "A Marriage"

Thank you very much for sharing your thoughts, and for stopping by again.

Tim Guirl said...

Mr. Pentz: One of the pleasures of this beautiful blog, which I have followed since the beginning, is the inclusion of paintings. What a happy addition to your selection of poetry with your comments.

Esther: Thank you for your words about the I AM spoken to Moses and the filial WORD at the beginning of the Gospel of John. I am familiar with Dorothy L. Sayers, having reading her delightful mysteries and also her splendid translation of Dante's Divine Comedy. I'll have to check out the play to which you refer.

Nikki said...

The Bright Field and Duncan Grant's paintings -- you made my morning.

Stephen Pentz said...

Mr. Guirl: Thank you very much for your kind words about the blog, which I greatly appreciate. When I began, I had no plan to have the paintings take on the role they have assumed: it just happened. Now I don't know what I would do without them. I'm pleased to know that you enjoy them.

Dorothy Sayers was indeed an interesting, wide-ranging person, wasn't she? Having been familiar with her mysteries, I remember being surprised when I learned about her translation of Dante. And Esther's sharing of the passage from her play provides further evidence of her range of talents. I need to explore her work further.

Thank you for your long-time presence here, which means a great deal to me. It will be twelve years next month since I started. Can it be? Quite a world we've seen during that time. But that is always the case with the world, as you know better than me. I hope that all is well with you and your loved ones. Take care.

Stephen Pentz said...

Nikki: I'm happy you liked the post. "The Bright Field" is wonderful, isn't it? It's nice to know that it is loved by so many people. I thought that the beautiful light, colors, and life of Duncan Grant's paintings went well with it, and with the other poems by Thomas in the post.

As ever, thank you very much for visiting.

Anthony Hill said...

Lovely, again, thank you. The Duncan Grants are great.

Thomas gave it as much as he could and scoured himself. If you or others have not read it, Byron Rogers' "The Man Who Went Into The West" is very good.

GretchenJoanna said...

Thank you for posting more Thomas poems, or snippets, right here. I restrained myself and only ordered one more collection of his poetry after a lot of browsing on your site and elsewhere.

I agree that "A Marriage" is a gem, in every way.

Stephen Pentz said...

Mr. Hill: It's good to hear from you again. I'm pleased you liked the post. Thank you for the kind words.

That's a succinct and insightful thought about Thomas. "Scoured himself." A fine way of putting it. His was a harsh, uncompromising, and beautiful world. However, it is unfair and limiting of me to attempt to summarize that world in only three words, even if one of them is "beautiful." I do like your thought: he "gave it as much as he could." And gave us a great deal of beauty (and truth).

Thank you for the recommendation of Rogers' book: I've been meaning to read it for years, and have never gotten around to it. (I suspect you're aware of his biography of J. L. Carr, which I enjoyed.)

Thank you very much for visiting again. I hope that all is well.

Stephen Pentz said...

GretchenJoanna: Thank you for your follow-up comment. I'm pleased you like "A Marriage." I agree with your assessment of it. After many years, it still moves me whenever I read it.

I hope you enjoy your further explorations of his poetry. Happy reading!