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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