It’s the fourth day of Christmas and I’m sitting at my dining table while shadows play on the Advent wreath and the dishwasher hums. The post-holiday lull has begun, that in-between time where memories of enjoying my family’s company, complete with six noisy grandkids, partner with a looking-forward frame of mind to a new year and a new book. Hearts on Pilgrimage-Poems & Prayers is … Continue reading It’s Almost Here–Hearts on Pilgrimage-Poems & Prayers
First of all, hello to new subscribers and welcome! I’m glad you’re here. By now you all know I write a bit of poetry…. much of it has been published here on my website but I have had the honor of seeing my work in print and in other places here on the web over the years I’ve been writing. Have you ever noticed when you … Continue reading I’m Writing Another Book! Help Me Tell the World?
Several years ago in a biography of preacher and evangelist Jonathan Edwards, I read the name of “slave poet” Phillis Wheatley (1753-1784). Wheatley wrote an elegy (poem on the occasion of one’s death) for George Whitefield, one of Jonathan Edwards’ dear friends. Whitefield and Edwards were pillars of the Great Awakening that swept the world from England to the United States in the 1700’s and Wheatley had been greatly affected by the move of God in her own life. In fact, much of her strong Christian faith shows up in her poems, which I soon found out when I went looking.
What’s astonishing to me is the language and voice of Wheatley’s work. She was brought to America from Senegal/Gambia at the age of 7 and purchased by a family in Boston to purportedly “accompany the family’s children and share in domestic work.” As a result, she inadvertently was taught to read and write, receiving a stellar classical education alongside the children, something unheard for a slave. She read widely the literature and early works of Virgil and Ovid, John Milton and Shakespeare, and the style of her writing reflects this classical immersion.
The more I read the more surprised I was, assuming that all African slaves in the 1700’s were illtreated and illiterate. Thanks to my Sophomore English teacher, Dr. Kehl, I learned to love the language and style of Shakespeare’s writing (though I often needed assistance in deciphering his meaning.) When I first became a Christian I enjoyed the King James Version of the Bible for just that reason. Reading Wheatley’s poetry was like reading Shakespeare and I was drawn in.
Thanks to her owners and their wide circles in Boston society Wheatley’s work was known and shared widely in Boston and across the Atlantic. Her first published poem was printed when she was only 13 and she went on to write many, many more. Mary Wheatley, Phillis’ benefactress, saw to it that bookseller Archibald Bell begin to circulate Phillis’ work, and the debut edition of Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral was published in 1773. Poems on Various Subjects was the first volume of poetry by an American Negro published in modern times. Its readers included notables like Benjamin Franklin, among others and was well received and widely supported.
One thing the world needs is for more people to read poetry. Especially from female writers of a certain age who identify as people of faith. I hope you enjoy this small round up and hope you’ll take the time to read more of their work via the links provided. You will be richer for it.
–Abigail Carroll
That I Might Dwell
That I might dwell in warbler song, in fields of sorrel, fields of stars, that dwelling in your house I’d know, I’d rest, I’d play at wonder. Oh that I might dwell
in pine-branched shade, among the sway, among the praise of oak-fern, granite, jay nest, spruce— among the shadow-dance of leaves, the breeze unpinning doubt, all
apathy, all hollow hours, all fears. Oh may I dwell in reverence here, and dwelling in your house, I’ll wait, I’ll pray, I’ll lay this body down on what you’ve dreamed,
on what you’ve sung, spliced, spun, twined, embroidered, breathed. And dwelling in your house I’ll know the peace of moss, the moth- winged hush of unhinged awe,
musk of sage, gaze of deer. Oh let me lose myself in rooms of fox- glove, cowslip, wild plum, wren— that I might taste the sleep of loam, that I might tenant beauty here.
There’s a lot one can say about the power of being quiet (yes, I see the irony). When listening forefronts the mind other senses muscle their way into place (the ears above all) take in the not-words simply song, hum and tone in counterpoint. No addition necessary; I am … Continue reading Silence Ascends, Sunday {a #poem}
Beginning Years and miles evaporate like the morning’s ocean fog where the strong, bright gleam of friendship holds true. Holds true like trees that have weathered decades of sun as we weathered our own wearying waves of life, lapping at the edge of our friendship, threatening to erode the years of tears and laughter, the breaking in between. In between we hold on, reach out past … Continue reading Home-A Poem in Three Parts
