Tuesday, December 6, 2011

4)James Metelak: The Incarnate Word + I Heard the Bells

The Incarnate Word

I. The Waiting

Light a candle for me, my sister,
Keep watch until burns down.
I am waiting for death,
I am waiting for heaven to drown
(the earth).

Light a candle for me, my sister,
Light a candle inside my hand,
Hope is still perching,
The silence is working,
Its way inside of me now.

Prayer is waiting;
Life is very long.

Oh that you would...
How would you,
How could you?
Come down.

The speech became carbon compounds.

Light a candle for me, my sister,
In case God comes down the chimney.
At least there'll be oil in the lamp.
At least in some way I'll be ready.

II. The Incarnate Word

Our merry earth is pregnant
With divine sun,
Stars, skies, waters, eyes, creatures, hands,
Worry lines, the wind rests and curls
Inside, breathe it in, we spew it out.
You cannot be "a little" pregnant,
Overflowing, inconceivable, complex tapestries,
The mothering morning dew burning bright on my tongue.

The world outside is so inconceivable,
sometimes I can hardly speak.

I am lost in the beating drums,
The brilliant light of a thousand suns.
Blinded by brilliance and dull mental schemes,
Trying to sing in tune with streams,
Trying to dance like a dying leaf.

I used to wonder where you are
These days I can't find where you're not.

All that is beautiful and true--old violins,
tulip beds, my Father's hand--smells of
You, even with my hard heart, half-snuffed
spirit spark the music soars my soul,
my words undone. All around is being
born the suns of God, yellow hillsides
with upraised faces, shooting quasars sprouting
from the ground, wheat heavy for harvest,
ripe with weight of glory
that bends roots through earth, twists
air into tongues. Your tyger's voice growls
foundations, pulsing through
trembling earth, blowing wherever it will,
magma melting dross, all
must pass, our glass,
take this fire cup, in these hands, we
craft with creator-creativity
resound with deep sound--our simple
touch, spoken words, pregnant with power
to heal, cast down, to speak as
Angels, Holy Holy Here and Now.

III. The Triumphal Entry

And who is this, man of light? Burro-borne
Throw down your palms,
The word is out.
What immortal hand or eye
could frame...
Who is this in shepherd's sight,
The pious rough who see the shine
Choir-sung, into a stable,
God-spoke into a birth canal,
What invasion! Scandal!
God fraternizing with teenage girls and
Donkeys parked in muddy stalls.
Who is this? No Zeus, illumined,
Transfigured, rabbi man, who comes
Eating and drinking, lamb among
Wolves, lion among jackals, and contrary to the
Pictures, not even wearing a
Halo. What did we do to deserve this
Interruption? This

We have to let the game stop.

Saviour of Rome, Saviour of
worlds, comes bearing bread crusts and
parables to Zion. In my gut, his broken blood
germinates and grows, inside me, Holy weed,
Mustard seed, you shouldn't be here, no
you don't belong amongst the thorns,
I'll nail you into pieces of wood, send you
home. Cast the bread upon waters
because no dove could nest its
claws on my stone heart,
Would you, Could you? Coo away
this birdshit with a roar, cast out cobwebs.
Would you? Could you? Nest upon my heart and
Dove, purr your way into my
blood (diseased, unclean) and
shake it out, ruffle my
depths with your word
of peace.
You're just a baby.
Who is this?
What is this coming?

IV. Apple Turn-overs

Inside this human crust,
A warm oven, the tree lights in it, a Mother baking
Congeals something heavenly,
Timer beeps, carols sing,
Rolling over in the grave,
Light a candle for me, my sister,
Not a stone will be left unturned,
Careful you don't get burned,
Not a table be left unturned
When he comes to church.
My Father begins to read
the scriptures.
He has filled the hungry with good things
But the rich he has sent away empty.

V. The Voice

Prayer is waiting.

Yo sé que estás aquí.

Whisper me, knit me, form me, spit me:
Just for one touch, just for this love.
The collision of wind and mud.
The starter's cough, the starting line gun,
When particles collide, fusion lights
a fire inside--you prometheus,
with your torches in clay, what a
sight you've made!
Come rest your coals in this manger heart.
Murmur me, kiss me, breathe me, flip me:
Just for one touch, just for this love.
This cathedral of clasped hands and heartlines,
Mexcla of glass and colour,
Stained once, now run with blood
Compound of spirit with carbon.
Carry me, sing me, drown me, clean me:
Just for one touch,
Just for this love.

Light a candle in me, my lover,
I feel it when the rain comes down,
There's nowhere where you're not found, no,
So open me, have me, illumine, erase me,
Til in You I live and breathe and have my being.

I've always been in your hand.
I am wrecked in your grasp,
Crash on your sand;
may every breath
be scattered seas falling at your
shore. And will it such,
That more than just,
The places your fingerprints mar me, please,
Come back and hold me, kidnap me, enfold me
Forever inside your arms,
Come now.

James Metelak is a writer, musician, the editor of this blog, and a full-time volunteer.  He currently resides in Cuecuecuatitla, México.

Quotations (in italics):  T.S. Elliot "Hollow Men," Fleet Foxes, "Helpnessless Blues," mewithoutyou "Sun and Moon," William Blake "Tyger, Tyger," Rob Bell "Velvet Elvis,"  The Magnificat, The Bible.

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