On Being Human, by C.S.Lewis

Pic from here

 

On Being Human

Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.

The tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth’s salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves’ fall and rising sap;
But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
-An angel has no skin.

They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang –can angels measure it?
-An angel has no nose.

The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf’s billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
-An angel has no nerves.

Far richer they! I know the senses’ witchery
Guard us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb’d sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.

 

Clive Staples Lewis

 

First time I read this words, they seems very close to that moving and beautiful movie by Wim Wenders with a so interesting title: Wings of Desire.

You can easily see a clear connection between this poetry and my blog.

Without these words this blog couldn’t exists.

Jesus, I need You

Well … it’s Christmas.

Some days ago, my dear friend Kristine shared me a strange song. I thought that I’ll used my frienship for Kristine, what I think about her deepest emotions and wishes, and some words of that song to write my 2019 Christmas wishes. I did so. Thank you Kristine. Be happy like I am. God is born. God came and comes in our so poor flesh!

These are my best wishes for next Holy Christmas.

Now I’ve into my mind and into my ears a sweet and peaceful music: John Sebastian Bach’s Cantata BWV 147 “Jesus meine Freude” (Jesu, joy of man’s desiring).
I’ve into my deep all my darkness and all the night where i was on this Advent.
I wish Jesus be born. I know Jesus is born. I wish His light, His peace, His joy.
I wish all these good things also for all you.

Jesus, I need You
by Judy Barton on Christmas, 2019

When fog hides
any idea of each way
I’m alone into grey, where I stay
There no answer responds to my why

I’m my need, I don’t feed
my pale soul nor my mind.
I’m as hole
where I can’t see my joy.
I’m a homeless old bitch
I’m grass frost under birches

When each Sunday
stops to be the Lord’s day
I’m alone in a night without rest
there’s no one that responds to my why

You are my need, feed
my pale soul and my mind.
You fill my hole
bringing me peace and joy.
Be born and be my home: then I’ll switch
to green grass under birches

 

December, 20th-24th 2019

 

 

Italian version

 

 

A jackdaw

Mater Ecclesiae Abbey, on St.Giulio Island

 

A black jackdaw nests twigs
in that hole between stones
built as life and upright pinnacle
between world’s history and the eternal

Sober sisters are peace, joy and calm;
women, nuns and sweet hope
showing that life is possible, nice.
They’re the same holy spirit and song

Jackdaw is black and black is too the cape
of these so many mothers, that are
built as life and upright pinnacles
into history, yet in the eternal

 

St.Giulio Island, April, 7th 2019

 

Italian version

Modest redstart

Photo by JB, 2018

 

Modest redstart watches me behind
old wisterias and then comes down here
on loose gravel where frisks looking something
at the ground as I too often do
 

I feel birds’ joy and freshness that chirps
in the clear and bright light of the day
while I smoke slowly thoughts in the shadow.
Just this moment is beautiful God

 

June, 15th 2018

 

Italian version

 

Joy

Gentiana asclepiadea, picture from here

 

Common bent feebly blurs at the blow
of the breeze rising up from the valley.
Gentian’s perfect blue shows itself deeper
than the lake abyss and swallows up me
 

I see shades of the sky in the rock
where the cyanite peeps out among quartz.
We are two, we are alone and we are happy
in the peace of a day that is joy

 

Riale, Val Formazza, August, 5th 2017

Italian version