Poems: "Love seems to be something like that"

____________________________________

ANDREAS THOMAS



Love

Seems To Be

Something

Like That



Translation by
PHILIP RAMP

ATHENS, 2005

______________________________________

AVAILABLE AT:

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Copyright © 2005 Andreas Thomas
ISBN: 0-595-35668-0

_____________________________________________

**********************
Love Seems To Be Something Like That

**********************

IN PLACE OF PROLOGUE

Identity Crisis

The short work you are now holding in your hands reveals an identity crisis: because it appears to be one thing but in reality is something else. The many verses from the New Testament it contains give a person thumbing through it the impression - and justifiably so - that it is yet another religious book. One of the many, the countless, one could even say, which in their vast majority rehash certain elements of Christ’s teachings which, according to some, must be learned if one wants to enter Paradise. (Of course, they don’t come right out and baldly admit that, but to anyone studying the matter a little more carefully no great effort is required to see how things stand).
The present text emanates from a completely different source: a human being (one like all the others) finds himself face to face with the problems of existence (what am I and where am I going) and seeks some kind of answer to them.
The fact I was born and raised a Christian has made things somewhat more difficult. Just as someone who wants to paint and decorate a surface finds it easier if it is unpainted (tabula rasa), so in the present case the surface, shall we say, must first be carefully cleaned (and with a certain amount of pain) of its pre-existing Christian veneer. Right from the start, the writer must make his own design there and paint it the way he wants it, taking material from his own ideas but from others as well, and then passing them through his own personal conceptual filter; these will include the various ideas introduced down through the centuries as life proposals (at least for all those who after dealing with the dire necessities of survival, which require their daily labor to insure themselves a modicum of dignity, they still have time to study and learn about, if only in a rudimentary fashion).
At its inception, this effort received its impetus from the fact that the original Christian substratum did not satisfy the author, because he had already verified for himself that although love is an attractive value for each and every human existence, and furthermore is the nucleus of Christian proposal, it has nonetheless been brushed aside and adulterated down through the long course of time, covered over with the corrosion of this world.
But when of necessity he had recourse to the study of other proposals (all those he was able to study), which had been suggested as possible solutions to these painful questions, he was forced to admit that none of these satisfied the deepest and most essential needs of humankind either, needs that were interwoven with his very existence.
So like another prodigal son, who finally "came to himself", he took the difficult and arduous path in order to advance toward, and at last, approach, in his own way, this neglected and even abused transcendent value which had always comforted his mind and given meaning to his life.
Saying "in his own way" is not meant to suggest, of necessity, an egocentric and autonomous point of view, but without overlooking his essential incorporation, and not just in words, into the solace of the "communion of persons", he thus came to find himself in harmony, with the, "in spirit and in truth", responsible course of each unique and unparalleled human being.
Is it perhaps time for us to rethink the concept of "one flock one Shepherd"? There is of course only one Shepherd, but is the flock then something which shares one belief, homogenized, pulped and ground up, as it were, with the immeasurable host of sacred texts and consolidated with the issuing of a certificate of authenticity by experts, connoisseurs and, more generally, those authorized to deal with this matter? Or is perhaps a matter of each individual course, done according to how the person himself feels, unique and unparalleled? And the only criterion for this authenticity is the ministration of love?
As a joy shared is a joy doubled, the invitation to participate in the joy of this course followed by all those who have this virtuous intention of sharing, was considered by the author to be a self-evident obligation.
"Love Seems To Be Something Like That" does not lay claim to being a collection of "poems" (because the author does not consider himself to be a poet, in the usual sense of the term), but rather consists of fragments of thoughts which, however, are not meant to wound anyone, and certainly not kill, nor even cause pain. The only thing they are able to do is to hint at, through their keen points, the sheath, the casing, around certain formerly sensitive souls, who time, routine and the merciless daily hammering they must sustain from the cares of life, coupled with the "vein repetitions" they are forced to listen to, and the excesses of religious propaganda they are exposed to, have blunted their sensitivity.
The author nourishes in his bosom no self-deception that people will raise an outcry, that their awareness will awaken and that groups will rise up, masses revolt, and that thereby the world will change. The only ambition of this text is that it might serve as a modest contribution to a vision of love, freedom and peace (which has very little relationship to what the person living today is bombarded with and must consume without appetite). Its aim is to keep love alive (as it is still alive in the hearts of so many anonymous and ordinary people) and, perhaps, (why not?) have it find some reinforcement there, and thus grow even stronger.

Andreas Thomas
December 2004

______________________

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

One of the pleasures of translating is the discovery of a new author, unknown not only to you but, by and large, even to the people in his own country. Such an author is Andreas Thomas. While making no claims to being a "poet", and in fact maintaining quite the opposite, he has felt compelled, nonetheless, to turn to the verse form as the one best suited to his need to express his deeply religious feelings and convictions, both of which have been sorely tried by the contemporary world where the fate of humankind, and thus existence itself, hangs in the balance. It is curious, but people almost instinctively turn to poetry when engaging subjects of such magnitude and importance, comforted and encouraged by its depth and flexibility, its ability to deal in a multifaceted way with the thorniest of metaphysical matters, its intimate sense of belonging, so they are able to feel stir within themselves ancestral and still vital sources that have nourished the oracle, prophecy, divination and revelation in general since time immemorial.
"Love Seems to Be Something Like That" is religious in the best sense of the word, in the most fundamental sense of the word. Though intensely concerned with Christian morality and the ethical precepts formulated to guide us surely to the benefits of the "good" life, the writer takes a far more comprehensive view than that, showing a keen interest in the nature of goodness itself and why though we have the example of Christ before is (and other great religious founders as well though none of them are as intimately and humanely involved with human fate as Christ) we seem unable to utilize his teachings and indeed are slipping further and further away from them as we make our way tentatively into the Third Millennium. Again and again in this collection, Andreas Thomas returns to this mysterious predicament: why is it that the human being seems to take such a perverse, if guilt-ridden, delight in actively shunning the good? Life would obviously be easier for us all if we "loved our neighbor" -- and though we have clear instructions on just how to accomplish that we refuse to follow them!
Naturally, this failure on our part troubles the writer enormously and causes him to reflect on his own identity, subjecting himself to close and searching scrutiny as he attempts to probe the protean forms and forces that have shaped his approach to faith and doubt, to take not only us but himself to task for not realizing and/or utilizing the potential of each moment to its fullest extent, our stubborn refusal to acknowledge the power and truth of Christ’s message in real-time actions, to embrace the totality of what it encompasses and promises us: no strings attached. The real why, the one we should be asking, the writer implies repeatedly, is not whether God exists but why did He choose to prove to us that His Creation was truly an act of Love. We have to be of some profoundly mysterious purpose to this Christian God to drive Him to sacrifice Himself in the form of His own Son, to experience the very human mystery of Death (and what mystery to be found in all holy scripture could be more unique and puzzling than this act of god, an immortal, making himself experience the terror of ultimate imperfection: death and Death?) This is neither the time nor the place to go any further into what is ultimately the most profound of all theological questions, at least in the Christian world, but the writer through this collection shows by example how through this supreme sacrifice God has reopened, in effect, the road closed since Eden, the road to communication between the sacred and the profane which itself is thus made able to share the sacred in the exchange. As Andreas Thomas says in the title poem of the collection, Love Seems To Be Something Like That: "You reveal the bounty of your heart / offer up a rose / your good word."
He returns to this theme again and again to show that he thoroughly understands the subtlety of God’s demonstration of His faith in us, allowing Himself through Christ to be subjected to what is considered the most inexplicable mystery of ordinary life, the denial of life and consciousness really from the mortal point of view; the unimaginable, the Great Zero, which He shows is not ultimate but subject to Love as all else, the only power, while itself ultimately unimaginable as well, can overcome death. As the author says in 010101: "At 1: Life, Joy, Light. / At 0: Non-existence. / And the switch? Your love / awaiting my willingness".
But Andreas Thomas is a modest man, not a doubting "Thomas" in any sense (he uses it as a pen name, but obviously a carefully considered one), but not a zealot either. He does not nourish any illusions that this collection will serve as a spark to ignite a new sense of revelation and lead to a sudden reawakening of awareness, a renewed sense of transcendence (but which, after all, at some point must actually occur). He is terribly concerned with the state of the world as it is as we can see when he speaks of Gaza both ancient and modern in the poem As It Were Great Drops of Blood...: "In the same land, the same country... / In the same place where you commanded: /‘ "Put your sword in its sheath" ’ but that command has been ignored and in so many places such as Kosovo, Middle East and Iraq, and as the author enumerates for us. Because we have failed so monumentally and frequently and recently, he feels compelled to make his own personal "apology" for this dire state of affairs in the poem called Apologia for the Second Millennium: "And now as an apologia for the second millennium / we "foolish virgins" ask ourselves / what might have been to blame / for our hands to come up empty / the dove wounded, / the houses deserted / and love frozen in our hearts..."
Each of these poems represents a different aspect of these vital and multifarious questions. But the author’s aim is summed up marvelously in the collection’s closing poem In Hope Rejoicing: where he shows how all encompassing God’s love is as: our neighbor: "faithful companion / on the road of life... / Your mercy is infinite", our friend: "who paid the ransom for my freedom / not with surplus wealth / but with the pain of his martyrdom / and blood", and finally, and above all else, our Father: "who would never have given his son / a snake rather than a fish when he hungered.../ (celebrating) his return / from the prodigality of selfishness."
This God thus guarantees everything from the microscopic code of the gene, the code of this earthly life, to the macroscopic "gene", encoded in the stars spread out in their magnificence each night. Code within code forever and ever and Andreas Thomas wonders how it is possible for us to remain blind to this magnificence, this truth that even science has come to confirm. The translator hopes that those who read this humble but passionate plea will feel a surge of hope renewed in their hearts, of vital benefit, no matter how brief it may be.

Philip Ramp
March, 2005

________________________________


IN PLACE OF PROLOGUE
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
"...and the love...aboundeth"
Love Seems to be Something Like That
Love, "Mystic" or Merely Human?
"We Wrote"
"Thy Kingdom Come..."
"avenge me..."
"This Night..."
(Thou Fool)2
"...cunningly devised fables..."
"And The Fool Hath Said..."
"...010101..."
"peace I leave with you..."
"Peace on Earth"
"As it Were Great Drops of Blood..."
"When He Came to Himself..."
"...shall he find faith..."
"Oh Faithless and Perverse Generation!..."
Apologia for the Second Millennium
"Ye Know Not What Ye Ask"
"For God shows no partiality…"
Toward Emmaus
"Works of Their Hands"
"Who Touched Me?"
"It is Enough..."
..."judge nothing before the time..."
To Euphrosyne
"...into a lively hope..."
"In Hope Rejoicing"
EPILOGUE

***********************************
1

"and the love
of everyone of you
all toward each other
aboundeth"

2 Thessalonians 1: 3

****************************************

Love seems to be something like that…

You open the shutters
see your neighbor
and say good morning.
Love seems to be something like that.

You feel the joy another feels
for what he achieved,
what you are still striving toward.
Love seems to be something like that.

You try and find the one who hides
his misfortune in the dignity of silence
To grant him
not what you imagine he is asking for
but what you owe him:
a little of your time and companionship,
your concern.
Love seems to be something like that.

You reveal the bounty of your heart
offer up a rose:
your good word
to the one just looking for a chance
to speak ill of you.
Love seems to be something like that.
.....................................................
All of that good and well
but other things more pressing now;
we were told there are
far weightier matters within Law:
our salvation, the saving of our soul.
Which is why we must set aside the minor ones
and dedicate ourselves solely to our destination.
"Woe unto you, lawyers"!

31 Jul. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Love "mystic" or merely human

Countless the references
to divine love, ineffable pleasures
and soaring elevations envisioned.
But wanting in passion and exaltation
the rare references
to the young couple from Cana
to whose marriage vows you offered
the sweetest wine the world has known.

His love may be
simple, everyday, the usual thing;
nonetheless true, for it is human
as you moulded us of earthly clay.

But the divine breath you "inspired" within us
grafted to our being
Love, Passion, Creation...

Of this our human hypostasis
- beautiful in its ugliness -
we are trying so hard to tune
its mystic pulse to the rhythm
of everlasting Creation…

6 Sep. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

We wrote

Ill, hungry
naked, imprisoned...
sharp, stabbing instrument
the unheeded reality
of their existence
made the poet’s heart bleed.

He crystallized the grief
of his soul in words
and set down in his verses
the abundance of his bitterness
that "my own brother
was no concern of mine".

We also read
the delineated sense
of the poem-message
and thus we moulded our obligation,
permitting us for a moment to disturb
the tranquility of our self-complacency.

Later we wrote,
appropriately and generously,
"the least of these brethren"
on "the pending", "to be acted on",
what’s "under review"
and we changed topic…

For most of us, tomorrow
the routine of proper life
awaits us once again.
And for a few
the struggle for the moral perfection
is carried on…

6 March 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Thy kingdom come…"

The one alone
exorcizes his solitude
with the hard-bitten company
of his antidepressants.

The disabled one
drags along his disability
through the grievous corridors
of the Foundation for Chronic Invalids.

The man in great old age
imagines the warmth of the family,
there in the chill damp
of the Home for the Care of the Elderly.

The one imprisoned
counts his days
in the vain hope
that the love he’s been deprived of
will, like a sunbeam, make it
past his cell’s bars.

The one ravaged
by the curse of war
wanders about as if lost
in the rags of his life.

And I
submerged in devotion
to my spiritual elevation
whisper: "Thy kingdom come..."

4 Sep. 2004

********************************
2


"avenge
me"

Luke 18: 3

**********************************

"this night…"

I have many goods,
houses, swimming pools, yachts,
gold, bank accounts, solid investments
(and I mustn’t forget my shares
especially the information I’m privy to
that will tell me when the limit up is reached
and I should sell);
rent, interest, but above all
enough ready cash to instantly fulfill
any desire I might have.
………………………………………
But why did I wake
soaked in sweat
in anguish and pain
squeezing, retrosternal?
"Thou fool, this night..."
I hear and it’s only three in the morning.

How can I in the few hours till dawn
do all the things
I haven’t done in sixty years?

Thou fool!

1 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

(Thou fool)2

I assemble my luggage
for the great journey.

The bell tolled:
posterior infarction
the doctors told me
and I must take care.

That’s why
prudent as always, sensible
I put my affairs in order:

Bible group studies,
symposia, seminars, meetings,
reading "good" books and magazines
attending religious services:
thousands upon thousands.

Lectures, proposals, interventions
on subjects of profit to the soul:
a few dozen.

Publications in "our own" journals:
two or three, and scarcely.

And if I wring all that
dry, what do I get?
Nothing!

Now I’m aware
that the coffers are bare
and anguished I try to remember
even an onion
I hurled in a rage
at that importunate beggar.
Nothing!

Nothing but a far-off echo
growing louder and louder
in my ears:
"inasmuch as ye did it not…."

As much a fool am I
as those I was taught by!

2 Oct. 2004

****************************************
3

"for we have
not followed
cunningly devised fables
when we made known
to you the power
and the coming
of our Lord Jesus Christ,
but were eyewitnesses
of his majesty"

2 Peter 1: 16

****************************************

"and the fool hath said…"

Really, why should I get upset
why trouble my mind
since the facts are clear
and there is no room for doubt.

Science has revealed
Experience confirmed
and Logic accepted:
there is nothing outside Luck
(and, at most, Necessity).

Signed and sealed
by Huxley, Marx and Engels
(may as well add Darwin too,
though he didn’t really feel that way)
and our contemporaries,
Jacque Monod, and co-workers.

They have shown that
all this magnificent construction,
the beautiful, the so wisely harmonized
the intelligently mysterious, the inexplicable
(the more we investigate the more we see
the vanity of our ambition to capture
all this in the narrow confines of our mind);
all this construction
that the ancients called "cosmos"
(and which indeed is a "cosmetic" gem)
all this
was constructed just by... Chance!

The Goddess who every day we rediscover
as cause and creator
of so many marvelous things:
didn’t she invent the telephone,
the steam engine, the typography,
the train, the automobile, the airplane?
(not to even mention the recent ones
computer, cell phones, television).

It is indeed incomprehensible,
inconceivably mysterious, awe-inspiring
what this Goddess can do
when she’s in the mood
and when she is assisted
by that strange old being,
antediluvian Time!

1 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"...010101..."

At 1: Life, Joy, Light.
at 0: Non-existence.
And the switch? Your love
awaiting my willingness.

29 Jul. 2004

*******************************
4

"Peace
I leave with you,
I give unto you:
not as the world giveth,
give I unto you"

John 14: 27

*******************************


"peace on earth"

That star of Bethlehem
bearing the angelic message
of peace on Earth
has been forgotten.

It hid behind the horizon
of disbelief
and our logical structuring
of the selective exercise
of Love, and with conditions.

The clouds of the "all against all"
concealed it
(this "all", however, is "of this word"
and that is why the early martyrs
another way marched ahead).

Thus Peace became the demand
not bestowed by You on us
through sacrificial love of humans,
but a triumphal trophy
born onward by our Christian soldiers.

How then would our world truly be
if along with our struggle against sin
we also declared war
on all war!
(Truly we have never heard
about any "mystic" literature favoring war).

But still we’ve never pondered
what a great sin
War is!

24 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"as it were great drops of blood…"

It was at Nain
you met the widow
accompanying her dead
and only son.

It is in Gaza
that like a spinning whirlwind
there passed before you
the death-scarred father
holding the slaughtered body
of his infant child,
an open wound where the face should be,
gushing blood.

In the same land, the same country...
In the same place where you commanded:
"Put up thy sword into the sheath".

But for over twenty centuries
no one has paid attention
to your voice.

And we who say
we worship you and love you
cannot even see
those drops of blood
which slowly rolling down Your face
fall, and write upon the ground:

"I know not what thou sayest;
what is this worship and this love
you speak to me of".

17 Jun. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"when he came to himself…"

We said, at last he understood
the human being has "come to himself"
has seen war is utter lunacy.

The enemies of centuries past,
French, English, Germans,
saw it was better for everyone
to work together
rather than slaughtering one another...

And as we were saying
"Praise the Lord"
there came the curse again
turning back, cruel and merciless:

Kosovo, Afghanistan,
Palestine, Israel,
Iraq, Sudan,
the whole globe an open wound
streaming tears, blood and grief.

Is there a ship, a street on which
to escape this nightmare?
Trust not to the measure of reason,
forget it,
it is obviously ludicrous
(the interests powerful
negotiation not a choice!).

But with Your Love as our guiding rule
what was impossible becomes possible.
Neither with words nor saintly intentions,
but taking small steps
the ordinary ones, quite invisible.

But we stubbornly refuse
(or has our faith become so anemic
so corrupted?)
to take a chance
and who cares if they call us
unhinged, feeble-minded, wool-gatherers,
incurable romantics,
and starry-eyed!

We must do our little, our tiny bit,
that passes through our hands
and our minds.

3 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
5

"nevertheless
when the Son of man
cometh
shall he find faith
on the earth?"

Luke 18: 8

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Oh faithless and perverse generation!…"

We imprisoned
the wealth of Your Love
in the miserable courtyard
of our bureaucracy.

We thought
we would subject Your Spirit
to the deceptive dynasty
of our Babel-muddled tongue
which means one thing today
and quite something else tomorrow.

We have spent
century upon century in disputes
in order to define You
who "lie beyond all boundary."

And recklessly exchanged
"the Spirit that quickeneth"
for the Letter that mortifies.

We scorned
to include in the interests
even of one of our Synods
the Love that is your Essence.

We forgot
that in addition to Your words
you left us
the bloodied footprints of Your life.

And while we should have been kneeling,
to find the meaning of Your words
we invested ourselves in studies
of "genealogies, and contentions,
and strivings about the law."

And within the walls of our fanaticism
each of us retains the illusion
he is the unique and absolute master
of the "true" truth...

But you, You sowed
the seed of Your Love
in simple, humble and anonymous souls
which we have no suspicion of,
or would even deign to listen to
the breath of their valuable presence.

But they burn the oil of their life
spreading love
and lighting the path
which with such stubborn arrogance we deny;
just to show us
how deeply overtaken by night we are…

20 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Apologia for the second millennium

You told us, "go ye therefore, and teach";
and in our fervid zeal
we preached, we preach and will preach
in a profusion of words and lavish oratory
hoping "the light so shine before men".

But somewhere it slipped away from us
"that they may see your good works",
for people to be convinced and to believe.

And now as an apologia for the second millennium
we "foolish virgins" ask ourselves
what might have been to blame
for our hands to come up empty
the dove wounded,
the houses deserted,
and love frozen within our hearts...

28 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"ye know not what ye ask"

We built
the castle of our self-sufficiency,
of our infallible wisdom,
and absolute knowledge.

We ceased
to humbly listen
tracking down and hoarding
grain by grain the gift of Your Truth.

We asked
to spread Your message
to the ends of the earth
(as we embodied it
in our own vanity).

And we didn’t hear
the distant echo
of your pronouncement:
"ye know not what ye ask".

30 Jul. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"For God shows no partiality…"

In the explicit confirmation
that "God shows no partiality"
we opposed with arrogance
the myths that speak of chosen people.

Some because it suited us
who worshipped one God
(you’d think we were
the only ones in the world).
Others because we "lent" our language
(and because of that
God owed us gratitude);
this language that we struggle a whole life long
to cheapen, to the point of annihilation!

Will there be no one to tell us
that we are in danger of being crushed
under the weight of responsibility,
the unique prerogative
of this destiny we happened to draw?

22 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Toward Emmaus

On our daily journey
toward Emmaus
we search for you in Prophecies
and saintly recollections;
in the thoughts of wise men, devotees, the select,
the maxims of the Holy Fathers
and visions of the blessed.

But you journeyed along beside us
"in another form"
one of the least of our brethren.

Our eyelids have grown
heavy with vigilance.
Our heart weary
with the burden of our piety.
Our thought dark,
unaware of the light and warmth
of your love.

How will we recognize you?

23 Jul. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"works of their hands"

You leaned in your "ineffable humiliation"
over the wound in each of Your creatures.
You listened with affection and understanding
to each unvoiced sigh.
In the divine calm of Your face,
the gaze of the one in pain,
the prodigal, the one disdained,
the "lost sheep" found rest.

Now people hear Your name
and they run from you in fear..
Has it perhaps been our work and achievement
to have adulterated Your divine image
and Your sweetest of human visages?

We locked up Your love
in thick tomes
behind impregnable monastery walls
Traditions, Decisions, Canons...

"The love of many shall wax cold";
but not for long
because you sent us your message:
"Behold, I come quickly."

7 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"who touched me?"

We didn’t lay hands
like the badly bleeding woman
on the hem of Your garment
to take love from Your love.

You did not feel
power coming out of you
because we did not touch
your bleeding wounds
(which are the wounds of Your brothers)
so that vital force of your blood
could be transfused
into our being.

Without sap
how can the barren tree
of our life bear fruit?
...............................................

But we are enjoying
the jubilation of our self-deception:
engrossed in our thick tomes
swept away
by our most serious spiritual uplift
convinced by the muddled confirmations
of the value of "sacrifice"
you did not ask us for
and ignorant of "mercy",
we are deluded by the idea
that we are moving along
the road to our salvation.

23 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"it is enough…"

With fervor we mention
the holy words of Paul;
but we have forgotten
his "collection for the saints".

Saint Basil’s we magnify
the foundation of our asceticism.
But just a bit we remember
his great Basiliad
and even lesser we feel the need
to imitate it.

Why does it seem strange to us?
When you asked us to take up
the sword of the Spirit
and we brought you
a couple of table knives
you told us plain and simple:
" it is enough";
those who understand, understand...

But there don’t seem to be all
that many of "those"...
And perhaps they are not the ones
who with complacency accept
glory, honor, adulation,
the bending of knee and loin...

But certainly they are
"the foolish things hath chosen"
and this world’s "unwise".

29 Aug. 2004

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"words for words…"

You the Word
entrusted it to us
but we reduced it
to a shirt empty
of soul and love.

"Words for words
and still other words...
Love where is your church..."
the poet’s complaint.

But who will listen
to Your own complaint
that we have betrayed Your love
and talk endless twaddle?

29 Jul. 2004

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6

"therefore
judge nothing
until the Lord come,
who will bring to light
the hidden things
and will make manifest
the counsels of the hearts:
and then shall every man
have praise of God"

1 Corinthians 4: 5

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To Euphrosyne

I am Thomas
and don’t easily believe in saints
at least those I’ve been told about
and didn’t "touch" myself.

But I’m unable to not believe
that one soul was holy
a piece of purest gold
whose love for one and all
radiated and filled the entire atmosphere
in the simplest and most ordinary
manifestation of her life.

To her and her only son
I dedicate my humble thoughts
and recollections here today.

5 Aug. 2004

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7

"hath begotten us
into a lively hope"

1 Peter 1:3

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"in hope rejoicing"

They’re bombarding me
with terrible and savage threats
about the dire moment
when I meet You face to face.

But I believe
(because simple like a child I trust in you)
that your Love is so great
it can’t be contained
in the petty, illiberal accountancy
of our earthly misery.

That is why with confidence I await
the lengthy journey.

It may well be that I am
a great zero, a nothing;
but You are:
My Neighbor;
the faithful companion
on the road of my life.
I know that you want to, and can,
guide me with certainty
to the longed-for end;
to grant me joy
not because I deserve it
but because
Your mercy is infinite.

My Friend;
who paid the ransom for my freedom
not with surplus wealth
but with the pain of his martyrdom
and blood.

My Father;
who would never have given his son
a snake rather than a fish
when he hungered;
but for his sake would slaughter
the fatted calf
to celebrate his return
from the prodigality of his selfishness.

How could I not live
("trampling down death by death")
with the joy
of such sweet hope?

10 Oct. 2004

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EPILOGUE

A latent power, underlying the preceding lines, arises from the desire and the need for communication. (It is the fashionable term, which replaced the warmly human expression, "communion of persons".
One of the means used by this communion (when it is done with virtuous intentions) is the dialogue, that is, the expression of a different point of view.
In this country where the dialogue stands on its own feet, it is easy to perceive the melancholic signs of its decline.
If in the annihilating pursuit of our daily life some inner explosion (set off by the many bombs going off all around us) opens up a crack so we are able to meet the other, the seed of the dialogue can again germinate.
Let us hope; because hope is the other powerful latent force in human existence.