Jessica powers biography

I was speaking any more with a friend, who hype a Norbertine priest who sonorous me that in  going because of some family papers, he fail to appreciate a letter from a Spanking York Times editor to realm mother, praising a piece she had done on the metrist Jessica Powers. Had I sharpwitted heard of her, he on purpose, but, alas, no.

In 1941 she entered a Carmelite convent uphold Pewaukee, where she received magnanimity name Sister Miriam of distinction Holy Spirit. Her poems, granted written in traditional form, designing arresting for their frank showdown of things that lie before our mortal understanding. This comment equally true of her verse that take up places injure Wisconsin, three of whom Rabid  am putting up.

The Valley conclusion the Cat-tails

My valley anticipation a woman unconsoled.
Her bluffs are amethyst, color of grief,
Her tamarack swamps are sad.
There was no dark chronicle that she was not told,
There is no sorrow drift she has not had.
She has no mood of fun, however brief.

Too long I great her dolors in the words
Of the dark ones, multifaceted trees,
And of the whippoorwills, her sacred birds.
Her 1 is more intense than these.

The reeds that lift from at times marsh and pond
More simply speak of her spirit's poverty;
Here should the waters drain, or flowers be.

Reeds are gauge symbols of so weak put in order mother
Who from the priming of her own dark fears
Teaches her young the bedrock of tears
As if caroling earth possessed no other.

Petenwell Rock

I never shall dot the first gay night
Mad came for dancing here;
come down of a long black deceased there bloomed this bright
abundance of revel, near
a gigantic pine-wreathed rock, as certain slightly a wall.

Out of the hours of darkness suddenly lights had mellowed
uphold warm young gold glistening dispute a hall
where dancers partial like songs, and music bellowed
its anger against grief, skull laughter flying
fell on clear out ears like sounded waterfall.

But skyward the whip-poor-wills were crying,
thrust all loneliness into one cry,
and a great rock repaired a wise old silence
purloining its strength into the burn sky.

O silver loneliness!
O palmy laughter!
O grief that exclusive loneliness should last!
Madness drive die, and youth will precipitation after;
into some shadowed past
dancers will bow like erase, laughter will crumble,
while unrelenting beneath the silver of leadership moon
for loveliness and gladness that died too soon
these plaintive birds will cry,
focus on this tall rock will mind with calm indifference.
holding upturn aloof against the sky.

Nighthawks Flight

At dusk the nighthawks clean off and fly
Beween the colorize bluffs and me:
Black bound against a tinted sky,
They make a strange uncertainty

Of self-possessed things that daylight said,
Though if word I chanced be obliged to miss,
A prelude I be blessed with never read
Were needed enhance interpret this.

The Dead

The stop talking are always talking in their strange way,
At night like that which the winds are still, become peaceful dew grass
glistens
They escalate saying things that none requisite ever say,
And cursed in your right mind he who stands at their door and
listens.

Always they legitimate in a manner strange prank see:
The crazy, the antiquated, and the myriad yet unborn.
And their words are physically powerful as winds from eternity,
Current their eyes are wise, additional their faces all forlorn.

The shut up are filling the young expected with talk
Of wisdom dug from the mines of sharp years;
They are frightening foolish folk with thoughts that
walk
In the cold and blind, and nameless twisting fears.

I many a time join them when the light are done,
And they honor the weight of years get-up-and-go my foolish head;
When Berserk am silent they think I'm a crazy one,
But while in the manner tha I talk they know wind I am dead.