I picked Song Restrained because Holy Week approaches. But first, I would like to talk about the picture on which I put the poem. To the left you can just see a mother-of-pearl shell. It given to me 25-30 years ago by a good friend who lived in Indonesia for awhile. Mother-of-pearl, my favorite shell, was what I had put in my high school class ring. A rosary like this one ended up being buried with my mother-in-law in 2007. My husband was upset because they had not put one with her. It is usually done for Catholics and something she would have wanted. I had one in my purse. My mother-in-law and I struggled. I gave the rosary to my husband, and he gave it to the undertaker. They asked if I would want it back. I said no. So it is with her. The Baptism of Jesus I made. I was struggling with so much after 1993 this was something I did to feel better and try to hold on to my faith. I had no pattern and just made it as I went along.
Why I had a rosary in my purse you may wonder. I carried it in an effort to get comfortable with my faith again. I did not pray it very much at all. It was something I was never really at easy with. Spring of 1994 I had quit going to church for a few months. My husband had started attending a different parish than one where the problem had triggered. That fall I started going with him to the new parish. It took me four years to to trust and begin taking sacraments again. The priest there at that time I still feel was a good one. I had went to him once to try and talk about my issues. I did my best to explain what I could and he was very kind. When I did go to Confession to him, he had to make I decision because there was so much I could not say out loud. He looked at me (it was face to face) and I slightly shook my head no. I remember he looked up and chose to let me stay silent and administered the sacrament. I do not forget that level of faith and compassion. He only gave me an Our Father and A Hail Mary to say. He also told me that went the opportunity arose to perform an act of kindness – you know, pay it forward. I was truly taken aback. Sadly, my experiences find that men and priests like him are few.
Song Restrained (April 13, 2001) on page 56 of By the Pond in the middle section should have been in the first section. It is not my only mistake in the book. Since the sections are a backwards timeline of a sort, I should have noticed. I had read my book over so many times during the editing that I was just tried. But, it is okay, I do not like perfect things anyway.
Song Restrained was inspired by Good Friday and Tenebrae Service in 2001. Tenebrae (Latin for “shadows” or “darkness”) is a Christian religious service celebrated in the Holy Week within Western Christianity. Tenebrae was in the evening so the church could be made dark for a portion of it. I always loved Lent more than Advent. I do not want to explain my thinking because I want you to see and feel what you need as you read.
Song Restrained
(April 13th, 2001)
Good Friday of this Holy Week—
Soared within the chapel
With heart restrained—
A song in chorus
At eight o’clock Tenebrae
Through vocal cords constrained,
Vibrating with the tension
Of hearts’ cords scored
By a sword of pain
To reflect the expression
Of the one sung
By our Lord.
His a song out poured
And abhorred
As he hung,
As a roadside billboard
To restore our reward.
His a fjord of salvation
Between the cliffs
Of our greatest transgression
To rip the curtain
In the chapel
Of our compassion
Evenly down the center,
To open an inlet
From the ocean of offence
To bare on an altar
Of our emotion
A song of accord
Alongside
Guitar and keyboard.
My poetry has been my therapy over the years. In 1993, an unusual traumatic event occurred with me. Poetry over the years has been my sorting out process. I have always had a strong spiritual nature balanced by strong doubt. During period of tremendous confusion, my poetry (sometimes more like stories my son thinks) helped me remember who I am, how I feel, and what I think and always have from a child. The theme I hope comes through is that we should not have our heads too far into the clouds or too deeply into the dirt. Life lives as balance somewhere in the middle with little visits to both edges. All 56 years of my life I have lived in Michigan. I was born in Kalamazoo September 16, 1958. My parents separated when I was young do to my mother’s mental illness. Dad died in 1965 at 29 from a cerebral hemorrhage. I was 6 when he passed. Grandma Peggy (my dad’s mother) went to court 7 times in a year and a half to fight for my younger sister (Kim who was mentally impaired) and me, because my dad had asked her too. She won custody of us. So, I lived with her in Bangor, Michigan through high school and college. I didn’t begin to write poetry until I went to live with my aunt (my mother’s sister) in Wartervliet, Michigan while attending Lake Michigan College in Benton Harbor. My aunt lived near my mother and her mother (my Grandma Elsie). After 2 years there, I attended Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts major in English and minor in Elementary Education. Right out of college fall of 1984 I was hired at St. Mary’s in Paw Paw, Michigan as a kindergarten teacher. I taught kindergarten for 1 year half days and was moved into a full-time first grade position for three years. I met my husband Gary during that time. On October 17, 1987, we married and I moved to Fennville, Michigan where I still live. Gary and I have a son age 24 and a daughter age 19.
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