I have been thinking a little—more or less at the back of my mind—about the human need for a pattern, a frame of reference.

For a period of about two years I read mythology exclusively. Some of it I received through the “interpretation” of Joseph Campbell, but quite a bit of it directly. It seemed that the more mythology I read, the more common little events of every day would register an association with these mythologies.( Read more... )

Various winding thoughts about Yeats, The labyrinth of my days, and the allure of The Peacock.

At times in one’s life it seems that for some few moments the past and the future forcibly confront the present. The state of the present and recent past largely influence whether these occassions are met with nostalghia and dread or become a fertile budding of creative force. Friday marks the beginning of one such occassion and I am wavering in my response.( Read more... )

In the Kingdom of Heaven all are taken up in song. It is right that our Faith is sung. Holy, Holy, Holy.

I begin to go deeper into the art of W.B. Yeats’ poetry with the help of A Reader’s Guide to... What I previously read about—that his poems collectively are one work—I now begin to experience. I see how through images these poems dance around the North Star.

The work of the hymnographer was to write the songs which are sung corporately. The work of the poet is to write the songs which are sung by the person. These are not at odds, but complimentary. The image of this is the corporateness of Christ’s work of redemption and that of the tongues of flame, the Holy Spirit, at Pentecost.

My own work must be rooted, grounded in the hymns of the Church. And yet, because it is a personal work, it may also, in fact must, be expressed in my own tongue, from my own experience, through my own heritage.

Intimate knowledge of the hymns will provide a framework and a source of images for my personal expression.