The body has a clarity
Between high and low hierarchies
tenebras et luces.
He would be undone
Who for too long scorns
Either throng to court the other.
Vengeance is mine clamors
Each. Angel bright of
Intellection, her glittering
Sword sends straight to
Heaven. Angel dark of
Palpitation, her furious
Pockets bulge with victims.
No body, any body.
Does a body lie between
For habitation? A clarity
Of green stretches between
Heavenly chant and infernal refrain.
There, the body rests
From the heat of the day
In the shade of a cultivated tree.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
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If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
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