| Snow Falling on Chestnut Hill |
Here you will find the first part of this sequence, that forms the new poems of this new
collection. It is published by Carcanet in October of 2012, as "Snow Falling on Chestnut Hill":
New and Selected Poems". The book, of some 160 pages, contains the essential poems from
all of Deane's earlier collections, alongside this new, major sequence of poems.
collection. It is published by Carcanet in October of 2012, as "Snow Falling on Chestnut Hill":
New and Selected Poems". The book, of some 160 pages, contains the essential poems from
all of Deane's earlier collections, alongside this new, major sequence of poems.
Overture
The Joseph lilies sway, in choir, like a silent chorus of snow-coifed nuns; you stand, distant from them, child of God, suffering God. On sodden fields a flock of chittering starlings shifts; the eye is never worn with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. Freude, the poet wrote, trinken alle Wesen an den Brüsten der Natur; all things nourish themselves on joy at the breasts of Nature. Here: the field, its wet-daub acres ragged as a famine-smitten family, only the rushes flourishing, their knot-rooted stubborn uselessness, the matted shivering of scutch grasses, persistent betrayal by the rains. Bitter as the ribs of hounds: and yet we hold in our hearts rich meadows of the mercy of God, all of us, forgiving and forgiven, riveted by the outstretched arms of the Christ-man; made light by sorrows, and by astonishment. By the gold-flush blossoming of furze-bushes round the edges of the field. Swallows were flying low over the wild meadow and already summer symphonies were giving way to organ-fugues of the fall; child of God, suffering God, I have moved so many years across uncertainties, listening for that slow basso profundo, source and sustenance of our grief, our joy. . . Freude! * I was remembering that old cantankerous composer, deaf as his podium, how he waved his hands about and heard his Ninth Symphony’s shout of joy; and marvelling how he stood gazing out across the blurred and many faces of death’s company (full orchestra, full chorus) who sang : Brüder, überm Sternenzelt Muss ein lieber Vater wohnen! Brothers, above the canopy of stars, a loving Father lives! * Father walked the kitchen floor evenings, hands clenched behind his back; mother held her head down, there had been disputes and the air was dense from withholding presences; she prayed Legion of Mary prayers, whispered militancy, the sibilances irritating. There sank within me, down to irretrievable depths, habits of pleading and the rusted anchor of guilt. When mother had whispered her way into her heaven, father sank into his depths, telling sins on the ambit of his rosary, bead after bead, a slow circuit. Now, I, child of the times, have been down to the shore again; I hold his old brown chaplet, crucifix dangling; each fine-wrought bead fingered to a dull smoothness, chain tarnished from handling but holding firm; I tell my own blithe and sorry histories, bead after bead, walk the length of the pier, hands clenched behind my back. Brüder, überm Sternenzelt Muss ein lieber Vater wohnen : © John F. Deane |
