Dateline: Howth, Dublin, Ireland, overlooking the Irish Sea
The sun has poked up over Howth Head this morning and the sea is bright and blue. Howth harbor is a seal sanctuary, so the seals are rolling over slowly in the surf and the seagulls are harassing them with glee.
Last night, our writers group gathered at a local pub, Krugers, for a poetry reading by Ted Deppe from his forthcoming collection Orpheus on the Red Line (Tupelo Press, 2009). It’s a collection with great tenderness, wisdom, and a touching feel for the rough sides of ordinary life. I especially loved his poem “Houses of Hospitality” about Dorothy Day. I’ll try to get a copy and post it here.
In the meantime, below is one of Ted’s poems:
Because she poked fun at the way his white robes
flew out behind him as he biked back
to the monastery for vespers
and then, recording her jokes in his journal,
he tried to recall each thing she’d said or done.
Because his hands shook when he phoned her
and later, when they walked beyond the gatehouse,
how the hills wouldn’t stop trembling–
he told himself he knew at least this much,
if the world shakes, pay attention!
Because of the long night, then, when he couldn’t not
think of her. Or the energy surging
through his ordered life, a wind
rising within him, the same energy he’d followed
long ago into the abbey, almost helpless again before it.
His reaching out of bed for his journal,
trying to describe the sound of her laughter
in the gatehouse corridor. As if God was leading him
away from the church, away even from God.
As if he was at last at the mercy.
-Theodore Deppe (from The Wanderer King).