Category: Year B

Seamus Heaney (1939–2013) was born in Northern Ireland. His acclaimed volumes of poetry, plays, criticism, and translation established him as one of the leading English-language poets of his generation. In 1995 he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.

The vividness of the pictures, the ocean, the foam and glitter, the earthed lightning, almost demand us to read these lines with our senses. We are invited to touch, taste, feel and smell our way between these lines, “the wind and the light are working off each other.”

Then, the final two lines remind us of an experience many of us have felt: sitting in a car with the wind buffeting the car and ourselves inside, from side to side. Only here in the poem is it “catch the heart off guard and blow it open”.

This Lent, do I dare sit and permit my God to “catch the heart off guard and blow it open.”?

Postscript – Seamus Heaney

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you’ll park and capture it
More thoroughly.
You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open

The celebrated Irish poet Seamus Heaney’s sixth volume, Station Island, takes its name from a centuries-old Irish pilgrimage site in Lough Derg Co. Donegal, in the Republic of Ireland.

“Station Island XI” is one of the poems in the collection.

The poem opens with the poet’s memory of having ruined a kaleidoscope he had been given as a child, by plunging it ‘in a butt of muddied water’.

There is in the poem a sense that Heaney has confessed, and he hears the words, “Read poems as prayers,” he said, “and for your penance, translate me something by Juan de la Cruz.”

Throughout this Lent, I invite you/us to do the same, “read poems as prayers.”

Poems cannot be read quickly; rather, they demand a savouring.

The image I have is what in my childhood was called a “gobstopper” – a round fruit-flavoured candy, which, when popped into your mouth, had to be sucked for what seemed like forever. The flavour would last, and if you dared remove it from your mouth, you would notice it had changed colour!

Also, it was well-nigh impossible to hold a conversation with a mouth filled with such delight.

During these Sundays of Lent, I will post a poem and an accompanying image.

The poem will fit the mood of the Sunday and reflect the readings.

I suggest you take the poem and imagine it to be that round candy.

Poetry needs to be read aloud and read aloud again. Then there can be added value in hearing the poem read to you (each person has a unique cadence. There are occasions when the best form of talking is by listening.) Watch the poem change colour.

Our liturgies are filled with words as the season of Lent moves forward until we are called to read the entire Passion of Jesus twice. Then, nine readings are given for those who worship at the Easter Vigil!

“In prayer more is accomplished by listening than talking” wrote St Francis de Sales living in the latter half of the 15thC and early 16thC.

I will use poems from a book titled, “The Word in the Wilderness: A Poem a Day for Lent and Easter.”

The compiler is a poet, priest and singer-songwriter named Malcolm Guite and is available as an e-book through Amazon.

I have refrained from writing a reflection on the poem; such a reflection might well disrupt the reading of the poem as a prayer.

Our poem for this First Sunday of Lent is titled, “The Bright Field” by R. S. Thomas

The Bright Field – R S Thomas
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
treasure in it. I realise 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.