My old friend Henry, still in the Fold, thinks the Holy Spirit prompted me to remember yesterday’s poem. Actually it’s always been part of my word-hoard (except for the title) as a poem I consider flawed but like anyway. Going backward, still from my Catholic period but a year or so earlier, another rhymed poem (both endrhymed & internally), outrageously Hopkinsian or Charles Williams-ish, a pentameter sonnet in fact, to celebrate the wedding of two friends I met through Henry, one of whom has gone on to some modest success as an SF-fantasy author. The title is the church in Ann Arbor, MI where the event took place. Several chalices of wine were consecrated at once so everyone present could take communion “under both kinds.” I was gonna say the meter limps in line 12, but it rather exceeds itself: I’ve always read it as a hexameter, but never counted till today. That “held shadowed hand” in the next line—trying to include both active & passive meanings of “held” by leaving out the “in”—is of course a blatant Hopkins ripoff.
St. Mary’s Chapel
The flame was in the starlight round the cups.
The cups turned up to face the flame. The ground
concreted shouted steady hale. Baled in a name
were sheaves of shadows waiting on the feast.
The least held high hope-glory, and hope’s priest
with hands like tongues red-tongued the cups with wine.
The Light and Line that cupped the circles full
looked, liked, and apprehended—took to sup
the friends that lightened. Him they supped and sang.
Cup-calling, filling future round them rang.
Their bread in bowls was mounted up for souls.
While they took, each looked: he found his own,
he found his food and friend held shadowed hand.
The company of stars lit up his land.