Poetry Friday: Faithfully Renewed

New Every Morning

Every morning is a fresh beginning,
Listen my soul to the glad refrain.
      And, spite of old sorrows
      And older sinning,
      Troubles forecasted
      And possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin again.

  –Susan Coolidge

Author of the popular semi-autobiographical ‘What Katy Did’ children’s series which debuted in 1872 Susan Coolidge was also the editor of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, and a poet in her own right. Part of her popular 19th century fiction for girls was a book of short stories — you can read a sample of the subtle instruction for how a girl ought to behave therein.

Other delightful poetic and literary discoveries can be found at The Simple and the Ordinary which is, of course, neither.


Been busy thinking of other things this week, but did y’all see Liz’s post To Cheer or to Covet? “Better to lay bare than to bury,” she says. If you’ve been stalked by envy in the face of another’s success, go. Read.

An update from Blooming Tree Press. Seriously: they exist. They’re finally going to finish printing their backlog; a.fortis’ short story will be further immortalized. Soon!

A review of a YA Islamic SF/F novel — quel intriguing!

It’s been a BOGUS week in publishing, but Slate’s got the right idea: howl with laughter, not with outrage.

Poetry Friday: Disbelieving

Eleven Addresses to the Lord, section 1, by John Berryman

— from Collected Poems (Farrar Straus Giroux).

Eleven Addresses to the Lord

        1

  Master of beauty, craftsman of the snowflake,

  inimitable contriver,

  endower of Earth so gorgeous & different from the boring Moon,

  thank you for such as it is my gift.

  I have made up a morning prayer to you

  containing with precision everything that most matters.

  ‘According to Thy will’ the thing begins.

  It took me off & on two days. It does not aim at eloquence.

  You have come to my rescue again & again

  in my impassable, sometimes despairing years.

  You have allowed my brilliant friends to destroy themselves

  and I am still here, severely damaged, but functioning.

  Unknowable, as I am unknown to my guinea pigs:

  how can I ‘love’ you?

  I only as far as gratitude & awe

  confidently & absolutely go.

  I have no idea whether we live again.

  It doesn’t seem likely

  from either the scientific or the philosophical point of view

  but certainly all things are possible to you,

  and I believe as fixedly in the Resurrection-appearances to Peter and

          to Paul

     as I believe I sit in this blue chair.

  Only that may have been a special case

  to establish their initiatory faith.

  Whatever your end may be, accept my amazement.

  May I stand until death forever at attention

  for any your least instruction or enlightenment.

  I even feel sure you will assist me again, Master of insight & beauty.


I think I love the lack of belief in this poem the most.