I’ve been writing a post for a few days, about our souls, and about sin, and about the things that take us away from God. But I’m getting wrapped up in my own self-indulgent hyperbole and I’ve been irritating even myself with my words.
And then I remembered that I’ve actually touched on what the soul is here, when I wrote about the way that we are inexplicably touched by beauty or nature or a connection with someone else, and it steals our breath in a way that we can’t quite understand.
And I’ve mentioned before that poetry doesn’t really do it for me; I’m more likely to feel the transcendent in nature than art or poetry.
But Kevin Hart? Kevin Hart’s poetry blows my mind. It’s both other-wordly yet completely comprehensible to me, even if I’m left grasping to verbalise what he means, or even what the poem was about.
Anyway, there’s this. I think it should be read with a glass of Cab Sav. Unless it’s 9am, and then not so much.
Some words are dipped in silence for a while,
So when you murmur forest, wine, or sleep
The other words to left and right seem loud
Like people on a street outside a church.
Some words come wrapped in a horizon- far,
Alone, and final bring a desert home,
And if you write one on an empty page
Your earthly years may be quite swallowed up.
And there’s a word that has a darker night
Than any dead man knows: it first was said
Before tall shadows fondled vines and trees,
And in rich quiet that word still speaks in you.
Kevin Hart, Morning Knowledge