In ACM’s latest literary magazine edition a poem by Therese Eby appeared called ‘Tis but the Ecstasy of Death; Modern Literature and the Question of Belief.
I am not one who typically finds much enjoyment in poems. I have a couple of favorites but it takes a lot to impress me as far as poetry goes. Therese Eby’s poem I thoroughly enjoyed. Yes, it was dark, with a dose of the morbid and macabre in with some blistering observations about the human condition… but maybe that’s why I liked it. 🙂
Below are the opening lines, not quite formatted correctly. Follow this link to read the whole thing.
A Thing with Feathers needs its neck wrung.
Where Poet, Bard and Story Teller see
a Casualty, there is a faith and despair sung.
Evil and Christ are historic events,
and God is a character actor.
Through time and space are cosmic rents,
wrenching and stretching both directions beyond sight, and
The tightly knit circle of family, tradition, and faith
was broken by the sudden length
of wisdom and age hitherto forgotten
in a hitherto unrecognized puddle of this, this new mortality.
Where the deductable line extends beyond human sight, and the unknown past is shadowed by
the forgotten future where faith is lost, man hides in a padded room,
Taking refuge in insecurity and for some strange reason not finding it there.