….it would be this one:
The Silken Tent
Robert Frost
She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when the sunny summer breeze Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent, So that in guys it gently sways at ease, And its supporting central cedar pole, That is its pinnacle to heavenward And signifies the sureness of the soul, Seems to owe naught to any single cord, But strictly held by none, is loosely bound By countless silken ties of love and thought To everything on earth the compass round, And only by ones going slightly taut In the capriciousness of summer air Is of the slightest bondage made aware.
Online text © 1998-2007 Poetry X. All rights reserved.
From A Witness Tree | Henry Holt & Company, 1942
It’s too complex, and I’m too tired to try to explain all the fullness of emotion that I feel when I read this. To say nothing of all the implications I feel of how this works out in every aspect of my life. How this way of being affects my theology (or maybe grows out of my theology). How it shapes the value I see (or try to see) in every person and relationship. Why I feel every connection so deeply and why I hold so firmly to my own beliefs and ways of doing things, even while I grieve deeply the tensions that come out of that within relationships.
It’s all so complex, and I risk having that complexity be misunderstood by identifying myself so strongly with this poem. Nevertheless, I’ve come back to this poem again, and it reminds me of why I feel so anchored and rooted even when I look wavering and contradictory at times.
I think poetry is a winter pasttime, as we have more time to reflect on the outside world as we gather up to read in the warm “inside world.” I just read Lyrical Ballads last night by Longfellow and Coleridge, and was struck by the romantic aspect of human nature they capture, that life is worth living because life is so grand, even at the darkest or worst or most complex times.
I also recently wrote A Jar-shaped Liturgy
on Wallace Steven’s poem Anecdote on The Jar and Eugene Peterson’s response to it.
Hmmm, now I’m wondering what it was that brought the poetry to my mind–because it certainly was not being bundled up in the warm inside world, escaping from the cold, for me
. It was over 80 in my house last night after having the windows open all day, and my kids were sweaty and miserable! And that’s exactly WHY I love Florida! I prefer my poetry with a dose of sunshine. The same kids complaining of the heat last night didn’t seem to mind getting sunburned at the beach last week on Thanksgiving break!
Your comment on the Lyrical Ballads has me thinking now about the different reasons people hold on to hope and the belief that life is worth living, even at the darkest times.
You are a poem! Well, kind of. Ephesians 2:10 says we are Christ’s workmanship. The Greek word for workmanship is poiema, and I just learned tonight that it is from this word that we get the English word “poem.” So in a sense you are Christ’s poem. Cool, eh?
That IS neat!
I’m not sure why I wasn’t notified that your comment was awaiting moderation. I just discovered it sitting there, a few days old. Sorry about that.