In the fields, close by the highway,
Stood a cross from days of old,
And Christ crucified upon it
Had hung there for time untold.
But at last the nails grew rusted,
Stormwinds beat and raged around,
And Christ, crucified high on it,
From the cross fell to the ground
Straightaway then the tall grasses
Growing round the cross’s base
Joyfully received Christ to them,
Sweetly into their embrace.
And the violets and plantains
Fragrant in their grassy bed,
Twisted, in a loving chaplet,
Twining Christ about His Head.
Cleansed from blood and wounds and weeping,
Lulled in nature’s living breast,
Among fragrances and blossoms
Christ lay quietly at rest.
But came pious hands, reluctant
To let Christ there slumbering lie;
Crossed themselves, then from the blossoms
Raised Him up again on high.
And, having no nails about them
Christ in place once more to fix,
Out of straw a rope they twisted,
Bound Him to the crucifix.
Thus the pious, at their prattle,
So now, in these latter days,
When, from the ancient Tree of death,
False rubrics, and their pattered praise,
From sacrificial smoke and ritual,
From deceit and blood and tears,
In one word – from that Tree descending,
Christ among human-kind appears,
And when, being man among us,
Taller and closer now stands He,
And by His holiest example
Leads us to true liberty,
Then they strive once more to lift Him,
High, high over human-kind,
And, with lying tales, if need be,
Once more to the Cross they bind.
1880
Author notes
I do not know what exactly you mean by "ranting and raving" - but if you mean poems that express anger and outrage, this may suit you. It is a translation of a poem by the Ukrainian poet Ivan Franko (1856-1916)
It was written in 1880 - i.e. when he was 24 years old.
A contest entry
- Ranting and Raving by ourgirlFriday.
600 points, ended June 11, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please do not feel obliged to comment - and if you DO comment, please understand that it may be some time before I respond.
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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This is breathtaking. It swings from beauty to anger so quickly. For some reason, it made me think of The Innumerable Christ, by Hugh MacDiarmid. It's not often that a poem has the power to express rage and beauty at the same time. I take off my hat to you, Vera. May I leave the last word to Hugh MacDiarmid?
Wha kens on whatna Bethlehems
Earth twinkles like a star the nicht,
An' whatna shepherds lift their heids
In its unearthly licht?
'Yont a' the stars oor een can see
An' farther than their lichts can fly,
I' mony an unco warl' the nicht
The fatefu' bairnies cry.
I' mony an unco warl' the nicht
The lift gaes black as pitch at noon,
An' sideways on their chests the heids
O' endless Christs roll doon.
An' when the earth's as cauld's the mune
An' a' its folk are lang syne deid,
On coontless stars the Babe maun cry
An' the Crucified maun bleed.
You have the gold from me. Contest? Whit Contest?
Best Wishes.
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Very, very good indeed.
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This poem makes me wish to be a roadside plant.
The poem is a great piece of social commentary, which has not grown old in more than a century. This is the Palm Sunday message, that we are the crucifiers, who prefer to worship a statue to following the Word.
Did you mean "See mow, in these latter days"?
Great one, thanks for bringing it to us.
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Hi Vera
This is so good! I think if Mr. Franko knew you, he would employ you every time! "Get Vera Rich!" would be the cry
heard all around.
It would take a poet, more often than not, to see that nature has its own way of dealing with things. But we can't be hard on those who do not, for it is all they know. Sometimes all that I know.
I like this rendering, Vera!
For a moment there my blood was re-routed to a part of my brain that I very seldom use.
Appreciatively,
John
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This is an interesting piece
Quite lovely, too! I rarely see an example of correct and appropriate righteous Christian anger. This is a wonderful poem, thank you for sharing! Best of luck in the contest!
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