Housesitting and off the shelf of an extraordinary library I discover the poetry of Stevie Smith… I think she and I have become friends and I just may have to visit again…




Housesitting and off the shelf of an extraordinary library I discover the poetry of Stevie Smith… I think she and I have become friends and I just may have to visit again…





What Goes Unsaid
In each mind, even the most candid,
there are forests, where needled haze overshadows
the slippery duff and patches of snow long-frozen,
or else where mangroves, proliferant, vine-entwisted,
loom over warm mud that slowly bubbles.
In these forests there live certain events, shards
of memory, scraps of once-heard lore, intimations
once familiar – some painful, shameful, some
drably or laughably inconsequent, others
thoughts that the thinker
could never hold fast and begin to tell.
And some – a few – that are noble, tender,
and so complete in themselves, they had
no need of saying.
There they dwell,
no sky above them, resting
like dragonflies on the dense air, or nested
on inaccessible twigs.
It is right that there are these secrets
(even the weightless ones have perhaps
some part to play in the inconceivable whole)
and these forests; privacies
and the deep terrain to receive them.
Right that they rise at times to our ken,
and are acknowledged.
and other excerpts…

Primal speech
If there’s an Ur-language still among us…
then it’s the exclamation,
universal whatever the sound, the triumphant,
wondering, infant utterance, ‘This! This!’,
showing and proffering the thing, anything,
the affirmation even before the naming.

Primary Wonder
…once more the quiet mystery
is present to me, the thong’s clamor
recedes: the mystery
that there is anything, anything at all,
let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything,
rather than void: and that, O Lord,
Creator, Hallowed One, You still,
hour by hour sustain it.

The Servant Girl at Emmaus
…Those who had brought this stranger home to their table
don’t recognise yet with whom they sit.
But she in the kitchen, absently touching the wine jug she’s to take in,
a young Black servant intently listening,
swings round and sees
the light around him
and is sure.

I am changed, am I not?
All glory be to You Life-Changer
I am not who I was
I am made new
All of who I am, in You
Ruined for anything else
And grateful, bone-deep, for that
If I am rendered fit for Your purpose
Let me not lament what is lost
But give voice to joy what has been found
You are the belonging
My heart has hungered for
Fill and spill from me
And I will know a life well-spent
I will know a life lived
I will know life
Not death, never death
But life with You
Talitha Fraser

At the end of myself let me find You.
At the end of myself let me be found.
Show me what love is.
Amen









I go for a walk
and am reminded
the world
is beautiful
it is not given to me
to understand
all this
only to watch
and then,
we’ll see…
Talitha Fraser

this culture
grips, snips, snares you
wants a share of you
does everything it can
to make you small
I will stand tall
I see your wall
but I see too
I don’t have to go over, under, through
just be and do
as I’m called
yours is not the law I follow
yours is not the path I take
yours is not the truth I believe
shallow, fake, relieved…
I will go on
Talitha Fraser

God to whom I am but a wrinkle in time
Be a light for me when all other lights go out
Be love for me when all other loved seems unsecured
Can it not be enough to be known by You?
Called by You?
Loved by You?
Give me Your perspective that sees and weighs
what is truly important
I have no control here.
No plan.
Help me trust to Your unfolding.
What will You make?
Give me curiosity, give me wonder, give me You
so that I might never feel alone.
Talitha Fraser
(photo credit: chedmyers.org)
(to the Plowshares 8, with love)
by Daniel Berrigan
Some stood up once, and sat down.
Some walked a mile, and walked away.
Some stood up twice, then sat down.
“It’s too much,” they cried.
Some walked two miles, then walked away.
“I’ve had it,” they cried,
Some stood and stood and stood.
They were taken for fools,
they were taken for being taken in.
Some walked and walked and walked –
they walked the earth,
they walked the waters,
they walked the air.
“Why do you stand?” they were asked, and
“Why do you walk?”
“Because of the children,” they said, and
“Because of the heart, and
“Because of the bread,”
“Because the cause is
the heart’s beat, and
the children born, and
the risen bread.”
Reflecting these past weeks on the life and works of Daniel Berrigan who died 30 April 2016, he is now among that cloud of witnesses (Heb 12:1) that ask us to ask of ourselves: “On what will you spend your life?”. I think it is fair to say that he knew something of endurance, on the cost of that he commented: “I think it’s kind of the price you pay for the bus ride”.
In his book Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Covey suggests writing your own eulogy – what do you imagine you want to hear said about you by family, friends, colleagues… are you making the choices now… living the life now… that will lead you where you want to go? …that will see you develop and grow up to be the best you can imagine? I don’t imagine Daniel Berrigan did this exercise but I do not doubt he was effective. Why did he live as he did? Make the choices that he did?
What will you live for?
What makes your life meaningful will give you a meaningful life.
Do not wait until you are dying to start.

God
waves crest
and music
a note
calling
see sharp
sweeping
crescendo
builds
and breaks
me
Talitha Fraser