SESSION 32 — take it To the Lord in Prayer
Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash
Discussion:
Two men talking to the same god… or are they? Different times, cultures, and lived experiences result in radically different perspectives.
In what ways do these poems circle the same concerns? In what ways do they differ?
How do the times, traditions and circumstances of the poets or personas shape each piece?
Gerard Manley Hopkins was a 19th-century Jesuit priest, whose posthumous fame places him among the leading poets of the Victorian era.
Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
By Gerard Manley Hopkins
Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now, leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain,
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
Edward Kamau Brathwaite CHB, was a 20th-century Barbadian poet and academic, widely considered one of the major voices in the Caribbean literary canon.
All God’s Chillun
By Edward Kamau Brathwaite
They call me Uncle
Tom and mock me
these my children
mock me
they hate the hat
in hand
the one-
roomed God
I praise.
Winds raise
the flat-
roofed house
each harvest
time
each southern soft Se-
tember.
“Hey, nuncle!
wanna see
what God in heaven
brought for me?
One pink-ear’d rat,
thick knuckle-headed land
one plot, you know, one
bloody plot; one cow, one dog
one fuckin’ plough that only works one way
a snotty pond in which my children play
leap frog’s habitat.
A sniffin’ mouse
won’t touch the best
we have to offer it; and yet there was a time
we kept
our state on golden stools – remember?
2
Yes, I remember…
but what good
is to recollect now
my own mock
me; my own seed,
ruined on this rock
of God, struggle
to strike me
and what need
my story
in these fields
where these cart-wheels
turn over heart
crush hard our hurt
destroy the root of love
with pain.
Boss man makes rules:
who works, who jerks
the rope, who rips
the patient dirt
Boss man makes rules:
I am his patient mule.
Boss man rates gain:
I am his living vein
of sustenance:
his corn, his meal, his grain.
Boss man lacks pride:
I am his hide
of darkness. Bide
the black times, Lord, hide
my heart from the lips
that spit
from the hate
that grips
the sweat-
ing flesh
the whips
that rip
so wet, so red,
so fresh.
3
They call me
Uncle Tom and mock me
they laugh
laugh loud
laugh loud at me
from the barrels of their bellies
swishing loud with liquor.
They laugh and the white
man laughs: each
wishing for mercy, teach-
ing their children to hate
their skin to its bitter root in the bone.
Hold hard
heart
From the bold
sun of the over-
seer’s rod
from the cold
sneer of my own
children’s fear;
for I fear
to see them
back broken
black broken
teeth their own
gravestones,
pinched
by fever
lynched
by the balls.
4
‘But to hell with this, nuncle!
You fussy black Uncle
Tom, hat in your hand!
Cut the cake-
walkin’, man; bus’
the crinoline off the white woman,
man; be the black buttin’ ram
that she makes you
an’ let’s get to hell out’a Pharoah’s land
5
These my children?
God, you hear them?
What deep sin
what shattered glory?
What harsh logic
guides their story?
When release
from further journey?
6
Ease
up, Lord
Writing Prompt:
What would you tell God if you were to write him/her a poem? What would your complaint … or praise-song be?
Root it in your lived experience.
Play with the words and imagery till the sound and the visuals evoke the feelings you are trying to express.
And if it doesn’t sound like a prayer, you’re doing it right!