My brain frequently works in loose associations, and friends and \u00a0associates \u00a0either marvel or cringe at the fact that you can say dang near anything and I will break into song. \u00a0 It could be a popular song, an oldy, or a freshly minted paraphrase on an existing tune just to fit the situation.<\/p>\n
This actually comes in handy when I am doing liturgy preparations. \u00a0 When I meet with a funeral family, or look at Sunday’s liturgy, \u00a0I can read the scripture, or listen to the story about the deceased, and think of a song that would be a really good fit. I had a boss once who used to call me \u00a0“the human jukebox. ”<\/p>\n
What I am saying \u00a0is that LYRICS are very important to me. \u00a0 If I get a new CD, I’ll play it over and over until I have internalized the whole thing and know the text and the changes. \u00a0 Sadly, people in the pews don’t always catch the \u00a0painstaking steps one takes to tie together the hymns with the scriptures and prayers. \u00a0 Or it is an AHA moment when one realizes “Hey, those hymns went right a long with what Father said today…..”<\/p>\n
You know, it doesn’t matter how great the homily was though, more people are going to leave the liturgy humming the final hymn than the homily. \u00a0 Music has such a subliminal ability to carry the message, and to connect life moments. \u00a0 I could do a whole life timeline by what I was doing \u00a0or where I was at in life when I heard that song, or where I prayed that hymn for the first time.<\/p>\n
So \u00a0where all this is leading \u00a0is to a major insight I had a few years ago. \u00a0 For many many years, I thought of myself as a musician who liked to write<\/strong>, but a few years ago, I had an AHA moment and in that epiphany, discovered that I was actually a writer, who makes music.<\/strong> \u00a0 \u00a0Perhaps that may seem like splitting hairs, \u00a0but it was an important piece of self knowledge, and that gnosis \u00a0has given me a truer vision of my gifts and my talents as well as my strengths and weaknesses.<\/p>\n The rich imagery and poetry of the Psalms have always been some of my favorite parts of scripture, and how those lines of poetry that I prayed daily for so many years in the Monastery\u00a0\u00a0still come back as a source of strength and insight to me now. \u00a0 It seems the right line and emotion are always there.<\/p>\n We just finished Holy Week and the Sacred Easter Triduum. \u00a0Perhaps the most powerful moment for me was Sunday AM after communion, when the congregation sang a hymn together that summarized all that we had been through. \u00a0 M. D. Ridge’s beautiful “Three Days” set to Gustav Holtz’s THAXTED \u00a0http:\/\/www.ocp.org\/products\/129171<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0In its concise three stanza format, it captured all that hours of prayer had said, creating a ‘nutshell’ version that was ever so rich.<\/p>\n The Roberts English books (remember one had the turqoise stripes\u00a0on the covers and others were patterned?) \u00a0 It was there with Mrs. Dannis, Mrs.McIvor, John Moffatt, and so many others that I learned Robert Frost’s “stopping by the woods on a snowy evening<\/a>” and “the road not taken<\/a>” \u00a0Walt Whitman, and Joyce Kilmer’s “Tree<\/a>” \u00a0and so very many other poems. But my very favorite was a line from Shakespeare that I still tend to throw out in odd places and situations: \u00a0“And greasy John doth keel the pot!” \u00a0It appears the actual quote is \u00a0“While greasy JOAN doth keel the pot” but I always pictured a big sloppy guy in renaissance clothes…. for many years I had it that way, until I actually looked it up a few years ago and discovered it was all Joan’s fault<\/p>\n When icicles hang by the wall, \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong> Love’s Labour’s Lost, V.ii; written circa 1593<\/p>\n I remember a Bismarck State instructor, Arnold Lahren, who taught \u00a0Doug Blumhardt, Isolde, Cynthia Trondstat nee Katharine Swanson the importance of poetry, and accepted our feeble efforts and attempts and found some greatness in them. \u00a0Kathleen Norris and her husband poet \u00a0David Dwyer, David Whyte, \u00a0and Anne Sexton gave me an appreciation for contemporary poets.<\/p>\n Yet, all that paled when I first experienced someone writing a love sonnet for me. \u00a0It moved past the intellectual, even beyond the spiritual, as there were those wonderful, terrible, truly\u00a0ineffable vicissitudes of emotion that accompanied it. \u00a0 For when a simple statement is not enough, \u00a0when one needs to wax eloquent, or to try and find the perfect word, then only a poem will do.<\/p>\n It is late, the month is young, and while I have strayed far from my initial concept, there is much more to be said about poetry, but I will leave it for another day.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" April is National Poetry Month. \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Many of my friends are writing posts about it on Facebook and other such happy places. \u00a0 \u00a0I think I’m too tired to write a poem tonight, but want \u00a0to talk about poets and poetry and literature and life. \u00a0 My undergrad is in music, and it has … Continue reading April Poetry Month hmmmmm which came first?<\/span> ![\"KALEIDOSCOPE_WEB\"](\"http:\/\/jillmaria.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/04\/KALEIDOSCOPE_WEB-242x300.jpg\")
<\/a>So, as we begin this month of poetry I’m reflecting back to the influences on my life: \u00a0Our primary reader series (school was JUST beginning to move away from Dick and Jane (Kaleidoscopes) \u00a0with Miss Olson. \u00a0(Panorama and Serendipity were the other books in that series… they were so cool, and I loved those big words!)<\/p>\n![\"6600829-L\"](\"http:\/\/jillmaria.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/04\/6600829-L-197x300.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n
\nAnd Dick the shepherd blows his nail,<\/em><\/strong>
\n And Tom bears logs into the hall, \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n And milk comes frozen home in pail, \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n When blood is nipp’d, and ways be foul,<\/em><\/strong>
\n Then nightly sings the staring owl,\u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n To-whit! To-who!\u2014a merry note, \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n When all aloud the wind doe blow,<\/em><\/strong>
\n And coughing drowns the parson’s saw, \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n And birds sit brooding in the snow, \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n And Marian’s nose looks red and raw, \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n Then nightly sings the staring owl,<\/em><\/strong>
\n To-whit! To-who!\u2014a merry note, \u00a0 <\/em><\/strong>
\n While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n