Thou Hast Made Me


Thou hast made me, a holy poet
What is this work, to observe and not despair?
And all these pleasures are mere words
Of yesterday, dim eyes any way
Of visions that run to death, from self to self –

But I rise again, in new forms
With poems that can myself sustain
Like breath and proven art
Thou has made me, a grand imitator
Of names in history, of verse

That contributes repair, spiritual repair
Repair me then, my little words, until
My end doth haste and in terror of feeble flesh
I must part, saying goodbye to all I was –
What is this work, to entertain and listen

Listing all that is below, without knowing
What is above, or how adamant drew my own heart
These are not holy sonnets, but all titles I must resign
Even being published, only a loose
Temple of my spirit divine, ravished in thy sight

For all paths that do converge I have found
Are found in uniting words, language pure
That I might in holy discontent simplify
For all coming ills have been pre-ordained
Though hast me thus, a poet at last
Alive at least in my own idol-making sympathy.

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2 thoughts on “Thou Hast Made Me

  1. I like this. Your poem and picture combination reminds me of this song and the music video for it. It’s one of my favorites, and is by my favorite musician Rob Dickinson (musician, I don’t have a favorite band right now lol) –

    “Mouthful Of Air” by Catherine Wheel

    Deeper and deeper, I go
    Your hearts drownin’, I know
    All my intentions are clear
    I need to rescue my dear

    So I dive, don’t despair
    Coming down with a mouthful of air
    To share

    To swim with the shellfish, I wish
    And suck with the sea queen, I wish
    Muscles and coral are here
    I need to rescue my dear

    So I dive, don’t despair
    In the gloom just assume that I care
    Coming down with a mouthful of air
    To share

    I’ll feed you much better

  2. Such a provocative poem! I came across it the other day and can’t stop thinking about it. Hope you don’t mind my commenting? Send me a message, maybe. I think your use of Donne is really effective, and at the same time violently disturbing. I’m currently writing a dissertation on his divine poems, and I think you inhabit his mindset well: his concerns, his sense of release in writing poetry; the charge of his phrases, you can capture. Absolutely love the line ‘Temple of [thy] spirit divine, ravished in thy sight’ – if only it wasn’t ‘my’!

    The difference is you’ve ‘feminised’ him. The straight, deeply-grooved lines of his compact sonnets are softened, even watered out here; Donne’s agony is in the absolutely single, absolutely independent source of his resolution – God – so that he could never ‘in my holy discontent’, ‘simplify’. It’s like you’ve relocated all his receptors to different channels and wiggled his straight lines. It’s not the first time John Donne has been undone, but I think he’s pretty brittle to try and ‘re-do’.

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