A Chapel Speaks of God within her Shadows

Freeverse

I know you see me from up there, from halfway up the steep and twisting lane. In early half-light as you take your walk I no doubt seem to loom as you descend, appear to grow, to rise from earth, my boxlike rectilinearity, severe and unadorned geometry, a silhouette against the solitary sodium source. I once hosted fiery-throated hymns from dedicated souls in Sunday best: "Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus", "O! Iesu mawr, rho d’anian bur" - voices rich and raised and resonant, so filled with faith, so gorged with God. My pitch-pine pews were polished by coat and skirt and trouser twill. Abandoned now, unloved, slab-still, void and stark and desolate, with quarry-tiled floor that would resound with joy were anyone to walk upon it, I present gaping emptiness, a thing felt, a cave whose darkness, palpable, is peopled by retreating echoes of my past, like timorous ghosts far too afraid to speak. But there is One I must not name - though He might be known by the four letters of the tetragrammaton - who lodges in my roomy quarters, cowers within my tight square corners, seeking shadows when the sun stares in. I hear Him breathing as He sweats in His remorse, a thing smelt. He hides from the accusing eyes of every nation, the eyes that witness daily His forlorn creation.

(Jul 2022)

(The chapel speaking here is in a small place in West Wales, UK))

(Translations: “Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus” = "Ride on Jesu, all victorious"; “O! Iesu mawr, rho d’anian bur” = "O Jesu, let Thy spirit bless")

Reviews

[Casey Truax]

Speaking as the church itself is a surprising choice but it works well. There is some great word craft here, especially in the second stanza.

[Andrew John]

Thank you, all, for your comments. I forget when I wrote this, but first posting of it (it was on Poetry Soup website) was 2012. Time flies.

[Robert Haigh]

A well-written poetic piece, with good use of language, and light alliteration here and there. Nicely penned!

[Richard Knox]

This is a powerfully evocative poem, rich in imagery and concept. The personification of the chapel is very effective. I especially like these lines:
“My pitch-pine pews were polished
by coat and skirt and trouser twill.”
Of course the fourth verse and final couplet are what really grab me. Perhaps in the end it is we who must judge God.

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

My mums parents hailed from
Wales he was a singer in the church there I never met them
I loved this poem thanks 🙏

[Andrew John]

Thank you so much. This chapel - though whether it's still unused, I don't know - is in Hebron, which is about 5 miles from Crymych, which itself is a few miles from Cardigan. It may give you some ideas, for there are more Hebrons than the one. As for the writer, me some 15 years ago. Would I write something like this now? Don't know. Weird,what? :/

[Julie McCarthy (juliespenhere)]

Yes it’s funny how the years change is but I enjoyed

[Julie McCarthy (juliespenhere)]

Is should be us. Typo

[Andrew John]

Typos can be quite poetically mysterious! :)

[Chris Shaw]

That final couplet is strong. There is no hiding place for the monster of Ukraine. The churches may be empty but decent people know a monster anywhere and we have one here equivalent to that other one in the 40's.

Chris

[Andrew John]

Oddly enough, when I wrote this maybe 15 years ago, I saw either God or Christ hiding there. I don't believe in a god or God, and do assume there was a Jesus, not a Christ. Nonbeliever, see? But I'm wondering what he (or He) was thinking as he hid within this one chapel. Weird poem!