Thursday, February 9, 2012

Martyr's Prayer

Dear God,
I would not turn
From the test of fire.
No flame burns
So hot that
I would leave Thee.

But often,
At weary bedtime,
I cannot hold
My knees to the floor--
So cold,
So very cold.

Weirdly enough, some of the poems from Beginnings have kind of a true-blue feel to them (aka, would have appealed to Molly me, but to this version of me seem either inaccessible or representative of things I don't like about Mormonism), so I don't know what Carol Lynn Pearson's intent was with this. But it's a pretty perfect description of how it is for me.

2 comments:

  1. I like this one because I feel like fire-hot passionate tests of faith can be much easier to hold on through rather than the monotonous coldness of having to go through every day. I wouldn't be so quick to assign the "true-blue" label to CLP's work, considering her life and advocacy, but then again, labels like that really frustrate me in general.

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  2. I'm only talking about certain poems, and they were written in the 60s so I think it's possible that they might have a different tone than some of her other work. I know about her advocacy, but this is the first of her books I've picked up, which is exactly why I was surprised to find these poems. And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with them, either, just that they don't really resonate with me where I am right now. Like this, "Lament of a Grouch":

    I knew
    That in heaven
    All are happy.
    But I wish
    I'd known
    The reason
    Before:

    Only
    To the happy
    Do they
    Open the door.

    That's the kind of thing I hear a lot from people who think that depression and anxiety are things to be fixed by praying and having more faith, and I heard that a lot when I was active. Of course it's not necessarily what she's saying, but that's what it made me think about. There's also:

    "To a Beloved Skeptic"

    I cannot talk with you of God
    Since sober wise you grew;
    So my one recourse in charity
    Is to talk with God of you.

    and "The Lord Speaks to a Literary Debauche Newly Arrived in Heaven"

    Impressive indeed, this shelf of books
    On which all the earth-critics dote.
    But oh, m son, how I wish that you
    Had read the book I wrote.

    and also "To One Who Worries About Being Found", which wouldn't be bad if it didn't remind me so much of more Young Women and BYU Relief Society lessons than I can count:

    Does the flower fret
    That the bee
    Might forget
    To buzz by?

    Ah, no.
    One concern
    Has she,
    And she tends
    It well:
    Her own smell.

    Anyway. It's entirely possible that I'm reading these the wrong way, and that if I'd read any of her other stuff I'd have a better sense of her style. Even knowing what I do about her, though, reading these poems was just a very different experience than what I'd anticipated.

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