Monday Kipple

Most people don’t think of Kipling as a religious poet, but this is a religious poem: late in his life. The execution is that of St Paul. At His Execution I am made all things to all men– Hebrew, Roman, and Greek– In each one’s tongue I speak, Suiting to each my word, That some Continue Reading

Sunday Sonnet

Locke is paraphrasing a psalm in which David asks forgiveness. He not only stole Bathsheba from her husband, but ensured he was killed in a coverup. It is often the coverup that does more damage. The verse paraphrased today is the second half of verse four. Against you, you only, have I sinned    and done what Continue Reading

Two poems.

Searching for a herb named solace; they say it grows in hard ground; I am sure it used to grow here, somewhere. It goes with nearly everything. Perhaps it is nowhere to be found. Better than heart’s ease, growing among honesty and patience. Julian O’Dea I wish I had a puppy mind to chew on Continue Reading

Sunday Sonnet

This morning we were confronted in church by an exposition on Genesis, how Jacob would not cross into the promised land because he feared Esau, who was arriving with 400 picked men. How in faith he was willing to send others, but his past made him fearful. He did not want to be vulnerable. The Continue Reading

Sunday Sonnet.

The text for Locke’s sonnet is Psalm 51:3 For I know my transgressions, And my sin is ever before me. Smart mean pain, gilt is not golden but guilt. Most of the rest is fairly self explanatory. As usual, if in doubt, read it out loud: Scots accent is optional. Haue mercie, Lord, haue mercie: Continue Reading

Sunday Sonnet.

Anne Locke now moves on one verse in her meditations on Psalm 51. The text for this below. I am not translating this from early modern Scots (which overlaps with Late Middle English). The spellings remain irregular: read the text out loud, recalling that u and v were used interchangeably, so vggly is ugly. 2 Wash Continue Reading

Sunday Sonnet.

Anne Locke continues her paraphrase, remaining in the first verse of Psalm 51. She cannot count her faults or number the deeds she has done in error. But she trusts that the mercy of God is greater. According to your abundant mercy    blot out my transgressions. Psalm 51:1b, ESV  My many sinnes in nomber are encreast,With Continue Reading

Saturday Sonnet.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold (Sonnet 73) That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see’st the twilight of such day Continue Reading

Sunday Sonnet.

I am repeating this sonnet sequence, in part because it is reformed, in part because it is in English, and in part because it predates Shakespeare, and finally, because Tudor women were tough. These are the biographical facts of Anne Locke’s life: she was the daughter of Steven Vaughan, who was in Henry VIII’s service Continue Reading