Poemata

Poems (Eucharist · The Carpenter’s House · The Candle · Three Candles)

Abstract
Trei meditații lirice în limba engleză — Eucharist, The carpenter's house și The candle — explorează tainele Euharistiei, ale Întrupării și Răstignirii lui Hristos, și ale luminii liturgice ca apărare împotriva morții și întunericului, oferind cititorului o contemplație poetică a prezenței divine în elementele cele mai simple: pâinea, vinul și flacăra lumânării.
Imagine

Eucharist

in this crumb of bread
, in this drop of wine
, lies all His
love for you

He asks you to eat
Him; He asks you todrink
Him He calls upon you to show unprecedented
courage He makes you His brother, His sister, His
son and calls you by name
you who have just left the leper colony
you who have just thrown away the purse
from which the temple servants stole a few coins
and boughtthe field of blood
for the burial of strangers
; to you who denied Him seven times seven
; to you
—yes, to you!

He beckons you to set
out, striding resolutely across the waters
towards Him

all the wheat of the Promised
Land and all the wine of Carmel
lie before you
—your
wealth, your
inheritance: the gold, the silver, the diamonds
, the precious
stones, the ornaments of the Queen of Sheba
, the water, the air, the earth, the heavens
, the blood, the flesh
, the suffering and the joy
—all
absolutely everything is here
in this crumb of bread
, in this drop of wine

the carpenter’s house

this son, this child, the carpenter
, has an angel, ever-travelling
in the dead of night; cold stars startle
; Joseph carves the Saviour’s wood

saws
can be heard weeping in the house and the fire no longer burns in the hearth
a white mountain of sawdust, above
it this son, this child, amen.

This son, this child, is dead
; Mary weeps
for him beneath the cross in the rain and thunder; far away, beneath the tent
, a whole world fades away

the carpenter’s house, his birthplace
, now rises to the heavens
, but this son, this child, remains
amongst us in iron nails

The grave in the garden has opened
; it is early in the morning. Father and son
are together for ever
; this son, this child, is alive.

The candle

As for the candle before the icon of the Mother of God
, I have little to tell
you; it burns every day and every night
until it is spent
. Its burning is utterly alien to the life of our
town and utterly indifferent to the cold and the fear
, to the biting wind and the blizzard, and to the rainof
November

It may be touched by the hands of devout
women; it may be gazed upon intently by children who have received
Communion, trembling like the wing of an archangel
; flickering, it sends me gentle
signals during the Liturgy
; it bears a strong resemblance to the heart of a violet
, which beats upwards and down
with too much love

it
is the golden key with which I open the gates of heaven
and gaze, spellbound, within
, finally
discovering the hidden Beauty and Glory

She
, this candle, this small and unceasing
flame, is my greatest
defence against darkness and death

three candles

I see them burning together
; they resemble the Graces
; life flares up and fades
away just like them
; they are beautiful and burn to the very end

one thing is certain
: in their presence, one cannot preach
about illusion
; in the face
of their final smoke, one can say only this:
what a graceful flame, life!