A few links to remember

I linked last week to the article in The Paris Review about Ron Hansen's book.  I forgot to also link to this good article by Dana Gioia on "Poetry of Enchantment," which I originally saw on GretchenJoanna's blog.

I also appreciated this bit of trivia awhile ago from Amy Welborn's always informative blog  about the former poet president of Notre Dame, Fr. Charles O'Donnell, who apparently was born in the town that was the county seat of the county where I grew up.  Greenfield, Indiana, is also the hometown of another Indiana poet, James Whitcomb Riley, who is celebrated with a festival every summer around his birthday. I knew nothing of O'Donnell, but grew up listening to recitations of Riley's verse from my grandmother and ancient fourth grade teacher.  I suppose that part of the reason Fr. Charles O'Donnell is not as renowned as Riley in the county is because he was a Catholic priest and intellectual in a stolid, protestant region.  His poetry is less accessible than Riley's folksy, narrative verse.

For comparison, here are a couple of their poems for this season:

Advent

by Charles Leo O'Donnell

Hush! Dost hear a calling, Juda,

Like an infant's cry?

Juda, selling doves in market,

Only hears the winds go by.

Hark! Dost hear a footfall beating,

Or is it stir of wings?

Juda, busy tithing cummin,

Does not hear these things.

Lo, is yon a new light breaking,

Now the dark grows deep?

Juda, see, a star, a wonder—

Juda is asleep.

http://poetrynook.com/poet/charles-leo-odonnell

And from Riley:

Child's Christmas Carol:

Christ used to be  like you and me,

When just a lad in Galilee, -

So when we pray, on Christmas Day,

He favours first the prayers we say:

Then waste no tear, but pray with cheer,

This gladdest day of all the year:

O Brother mine of birth Divine,

Upon this natal day of Thine

Bear with our stress of happiness

Nor count our reverence the less

because with glee and jubilee

Our hearts go singing up to Thee.

from The Poem and Prose Sketches of James Whitcomb Riley

and this;

Who Santy-Claus Wuz

Jes' a little bit o' feller--I remember still-- 
Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will. 
Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!--New Year's ain't a smell! 
Easter-Sunday--Circus-day--jes' all dead in the shell! 
Lawzy, though! at night, you know, to set around an' hear 
The  old folks work the story off about the sledge an' deer, 
An' 'Santy' skootin' round the roof, all wrapt in fur an' fuzz-- 
Long afore 
I knowed who 
'Santy-Claus' wuz! 

Ust to wait, an' set up late, a week er two ahead; 
Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed; 
Kittle stewin' on the fire, an' Mother settin' here 
Darnin' socks, an' rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer; 
Pap gap', an' wonder where it wuz the money went, 
An' quar'l with his frosted heels, an' spill his liniment; 
An' me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir an' buzz, 
Long afore 
I knowed who 
'Santy-Claus' wuz! 

... and it goes on for a few more verses.  Most likely both of them will be forgotten and neglected by readers before too much longer, and perhaps that is no great loss.  Riley's verse has much in common with Gioia's claim that poetry is an ancient art, universal in human experience, originally performed as a form of oral culture.  I admit I like reading out loud his poetry, which tries to capture the experiences, feelings, and dialect of the people of his time and place, although the dialect sounds nothing like what I hear in Indiana accents.

O'Donnell's poetry also captures universal feelings and experiences, but perhaps his audience is smaller. Here, for instance, is a poem that speaks directly to those who have walked the paths around the lakes at Notre Dame, but is less relevant to others, although walking in the woods is a common experience.

At Notre Dame
So well I love these woods I half believe
There is an intimate fellowship we share;
So many years we breathed the same brave air,
Kept spring in common, and were one to grieve
Summer’s undoing, saw the fall bereave
Us both of beauty, together learned to bear
The weight of winter. When I go other where —
An unreturning journey — I would leave
Some whisper of a song in these old oaks,
A footfall lingering till some distant summer
Another singer down these paths may stray —
The destined one a golden future cloaks —
And he may love them, too, this graced newcomer,
And may remember that I passed this way.
Rev. Charles L. O’Donnell, CSC

Now this poem makes me think about my two oldest boys, whom I haven't seen since August. They will be home this week!! I can't wait - this kind of hopeful expectation adds to the poignancy of the theme of Advent patience and preparation, akin to the meaningfulness of being pregnant of Advent.  I now have more sympathy now for my mom's desire to have everyone home for Christmas!