By Daniel Berrigan
And the Risen Bread is a fruits of 40 years of poetry by means of American Jesuit and activist Daniel Berrigan. starting with poems written on bucolic topics, the booklet strikes to these facing the fight opposed to struggle. incorporated are poems written from courtrooms and prison cells, in addition to spiritual poems which come with the doubt and hassle that come up from the various horrors of our global this present day.
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Extra resources for And the Risen Bread: Selected and New Poems 1957-97
New lambs sniff and shy at my blood: go red fleece teach death to my mother. Abraham To see my small son running ahead: pausing above a flower, bringing some trifle of hedgerow wearying, sighing, seeking my hand unable in all his being to give death credence, his heart agile to prove youth upon a ditch or stile: to see this you must know my heart like kettledrums commanded alarms and marches, shook old age like treason from its majesty. I am sift of dust in that Hand unmercifully blown Love Me, His thunder never cried Love me my child's eyes never cried until this dawn and under under my knife Page 23 Saint Joseph She walked noon fields bearing the child in arms.
An Old Woman in Death For words words; death's instantaneous waterfall granted all at once what sun fumbles weeks upon, and only debatedly brings to pass: I say spring that springs her absent eyes: like flowers whose seed dies in temperate air, they fade here: but in height elsewhere, are majestic blue blue wept her eyes when she cried aloud: in fear or exaltation, no one knows. The woman who died shook a worn garment aside bride somewhere again by loving makes beautiful. Page 32 Which Way Human?
He is more like the sea, bringing up God knows what at any moment: Conrad) Nail him to sticks he stands free, makes sense of agony, of sticks and stones. He ranges, rejoices the horizon sorrow lifts him to. Blood writes what heart provides: God knows what that sea brings up. God bring that sea safe — safe is no word for himbut a surf home, shuddering its coast crying hoarse in its falling victory. An Old Woman in Death For words words; death's instantaneous waterfall granted all at once what sun fumbles weeks upon, and only debatedly brings to pass: I say spring that springs her absent eyes: like flowers whose seed dies in temperate air, they fade here: but in height elsewhere, are majestic blue blue wept her eyes when she cried aloud: in fear or exaltation, no one knows.