ON THE FESTIVAL OF SAN BEDA, YORK IS AN IVORY CITY
BEDA THE VENERABLE FATHER OF THE CHURCH
Your remembrance party is
of a happy time
Spiers of York
that house we had
in wilberfoss
we were poor and happy
The window overlooking the soccer field
the books i read
the poems i wrote
calamus current
The pen like a dart in the hand
searching the scriptures
high school teacher
and writer's apprentice
The briddle path through Armthorpe to the school
My bike
kisses from my wife
And the cooing of my Helen
Rielvaux Abbey
Jarrow's Towers
There was only one cliff left
The first classes of Anglo-Saxon
That nun Roswitia
And the beers at the inn
Pint of bitter please
england angeli
land of angels
I fell in love with that city
I cried and suffered next to the walls
from york
I overcame the trances, rolled up in my scarves hitchhiking
To save the bus trip
Praying in Beverley Cathedral
antiphons and psalms
We baptized my girl on Saint Peter's Day
And she bears your monastic name: Venerable Bede
Alcuin's Master
Carolingian court scribe
I measured the course of the stars
I defined the date of Easter
O the good merry England
shakespeare
Whose verses sounded resounding
In those northern cities
I knew how to pronounce the name of the rose
Truth and faith dwell in books
Scrolls don't age
I knew the letters of Alcuin
The blessed of Liébana
peering into the darkness
of the apocalypse
Today after time
I miss that England
catholic that is not
It was a happy time
The best years of my life
God led me on the path of the word
I visited the tomb of Saint Helena
York Eboracum
It was a city of ivory
God took me by the hand
By the paths of the blank page
Saturday, May 27, 2023
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