I can’t cry innocent in any court:
Dogged by enemies, I ran, was caught.
Pitched in a hole, my soul turned waste,
Heart hollow rock not even wind might whistle through.
Did darkness when the universe was torn from you
Into its being, long for nothing?
Hurry. Faces of the long departed, dim and empty
Peer up from the pit. I said, “The sun will rise tomorrow.
I will see it.” Will I? Keep me and my spirits spinning
Level at the rim until the hateful clatter echoless
Down their appointed slot. Then keep me longer:
No good likeness when I am not.
The Enduring Legacy of the Spanish Mystics
Last autumn, I spent a few days at my family’s coastal country house in northwestern Spain. The…
The trouble with blogging …
The trouble with blogging, RJN, is narrative structure. Or maybe voice. Or maybe diction. Or maybe syntax.…
The Bible Throughout the Ages
The latest installment of an ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein. Bruce Gordon joins in…