Here’s a poem I came across:
“First Leaf” by Lia Purpura
That yellow
was a falling off,
a fall
for once I saw
coming—
it could
in its stillness
still be turned from,
it was not
yet ferocious,
its hold drew me,
was a shiny switchplate
in the otherwise dark,
rash, ongoing green,
a green so hungry
for light and air that
part gave up,
went alone,
chose to leave,
and by choosing
embellishment
got seen.
It reminded me of this poem:
“l(a” by e. e. cummings
l(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
one
l
iness
Which reminded me of George Herbert, a seventeenth-century devotional poet, some of whose poems look like this:
“Easter Wings”
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
Though foolishly he lost the same,
Decaying more and more
Till he became
Most poor:
O let me rise
As larks, harmoniously
And sing this day thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.
My tender age in sorrow did begin;
And still with sicknesses and shame
Thou didst so punish sin,
That I became
Most thin.
With thee
Let me combine,
And feel this day thy victory;
For, if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
I used to dislike poems like these. I thought they were silly, too obvious. Now I like them. I study them. Maybe it’s because, now older, a parent, now taking faith seriously, I know how hard it is to match form with function, to live a life that looks like these poems. A life of integrity. Is there anything harder, or more necessary, in the life of faith?
Jim Hinch is a senior editor at GUIDEPOSTS. Reach him at jhinch@guideposts.org.
