To my personal chagrin, I’ve never read much by John Updike; I think once or twice at school we were required to read a paragraph here or there, but I never got into reading his prose, mainly because life has been crammed with such stories that I haven’t yet had time. The poetry of Mr. Updike, though — I’ve read some of that, and with its economy of words, poignancy and ephemeral beauty. This is my very favorite.
Religious Consolation
– by John Updike
One size fits all. The shape or coloration
of the god or high heaven matters less
than that there is one, somehow, somewhere, hearing
the hasty prayer and chalking up the mite
the widow brings to the temple. A child
alone with horrid verities cries out
for there to be a limit, a warm wall
whose stones give back an answer, however faint.
Strange, the extravagance of it—who needs
those eighteen-armed black Kalis, those musty saints
whose bones and bleeding wounds appall good taste,
those joss sticks, houris, gilded Buddhas, books
Moroni etched in tedious detail?
We do; we need more worlds. This one will fail.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. May you find a world that provides you warm walls, limits, answers — what it is that you need.
Poetry Friday is being hosted by the holly and the ivy.