Memorize Poetry with Me?
A Lenten Practice
Lent
Middle English lente springtime, Lent, from Old English lencten
I came to the church calendar and all its beauty and limitations as an adult in my late 20’s. Its practices have been formative in my adulthood, but it wasn’t until last year that I learned the etymology of the word lent is derived from spring. This unlocked a new kind of penitential experience for me.
It is common during Lent to abstain or give up something during these 40 days before Easter, following the example of Christ in the wilderness—
but I had also heard of friends adding in new practices, too, so I gave it a try last year.
I gave up T.V.—shoving it in my closet to help me accomplish this task. (I think I only pulled it out a time or two…) Replacing the time I normally spent watching it in the evenings, I added in a kind of spiritual scrapbooking—cutting up images from magazines and pasting them down as prayers in a tiny journal while listening to a record.
This year, I’m going to give up T.V. again. (Though I don’t think I’ll be moving it to the closet, so we’ll see how effective this will be.)
My additive practice this year? Memorizing one poem for every week of Lent. I was inspired by a recent New York Times article about memorizing poetry and decided I would adapt this for my own practice this year.
Would you like to join me?
Here is the first poem I’ve selected:
Matins, Robert Siegel
It is morning. A finch startles
the maples leaves. Everything's clear
in this first light before all thins
to a locust harping on the heat.
While day clutches at my pulse
to inject the usual anesthetic,
now, Christ, stimulate my heart,
transfuse your blood to fortify my own.
Let no light upon these sheets
diminish, Lord, before I feel you
burst inward like a finch
to nest and sing within this tree of bones.