Author Archives: Jenn Cavanaugh

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About Jenn Cavanaugh

B.A. Russian Language and Literature, Willamette University; M.A. Theology and the Arts, Fuller Seminary

Advent Again – day 20

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Who am I.. that you have brought me thus far?

cubist-self-portrait-dali

Cubist Self-Portrait (1923) by Salvador Dali

from “Who Understands Me But Me?” by Jimmy Santiago Baca

…

I cannot fly or make something appear in my hand,
I cannot make the heavens open or the earth tremble,
I can live with myself, and I am amazed at myself, my love,
my beauty,
I am taken by my failures, astounded by my fears,
I am stubborn and childish,
in the midst of this wreckage of life they incurred,
I practice being myself,
and I have found parts of myself never dreamed of by me,
they were goaded out from under rocks in my heart
when the walls were built higher,
when the water was turned off and the windows painted black.
I followed these signs
like an old tracker and followed the tracks deep into myself,
followed the blood-spotted path,
deeper into dangerous regions, and found so many parts of myself,
who taught me water is not everything,
and gave me new eyes to see through walls,
and when they spoke, sunlight came out of their mouths,
and I was laughing at me with them,
we laughed like children and made pacts to always be loyal,
who understands me when I say this is beautiful?

Advent Again – day 19

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“I have been with you wherever you went”

hotel-room-edward-hopper

“Hotel Room” (1931) by Edward Hopper

from “Bible Study” by Tony Hoagland

 

I was on the road for so long by myself,

I took to reading motel Bibles just for company.

Lying on the chintz bedspread before going to sleep,

still feeling the motion of the car inside my body,

I thought some wrongness in my self had made me that alone.

 

And God said, You are worth more to me

than one hundred sparrows.

And when I read that, I wept.

And God said, Whom have I blessed more than I have blessed you?

 

And I looked at the mini bar

and the bad abstract hotel art on the wall

and the dark TV set watching like a deacon.

 

And God said, Survive. And carry my perfume among the perishing.

 

 

Advent Again – day 18

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Do not be afraid. Here’s what to do: Speak truth, do justice, make peace. Stop making life hard for each other….

“Good Bones” by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.

Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways

I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative

estimate, though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

tous-les-visages-alfred

“Tous les visages des enfants à un spectacle de marionnettes au moment où le dragon est tué” by Alfred Eisenstaedt

sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children. I am trying

to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones: This place could be beautiful,

right? You could make this place beautiful.

Advent Again – day 17

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the rock and the river…

from “The Rock Cries Out to Us Today” by Maya Angelou

…

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.

The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

the-incandescent-sun-600x482

“The Incandescent Sun” by Elliott Daingerfield

Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.

Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.

The river sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.

…

Advent Again – day 16

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On that day the deaf shall hear
    the words of a scroll,
and out of their gloom and darkness
    the eyes of the blind shall see. – Isaiah 29:18

dark-sea-dave-anderson

“Dark Sea” by Dave Anderson http://clampart.com/2012/04/dark-sea/dark-sea/

from “Song for the Last Act” by Louise Bogan

…

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read
In the black chords upon a dulling page
Music that is not meant for music’s cage,
Whose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed.
The staves are shuttled over with a stark
Unprinted silence. In a double dream
I must spell out the storm, the running stream.
The beat’s too swift. The notes shift in the dark.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see
The wharves with their great ships and architraves;
The rigging and the cargo and the slaves
On a strange beach under a broken sky.
O not departure, but a voyage done!
The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps
Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps
Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see.

Advent Again – day 15

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“The desert shall rejoice and blossom”

fom-gillette-beyondtheruins-cathedral

“Haiti – Beyond the Ruins: Cathedral” by Bryn Gillette

from “Illumination” by Elizabeth Woody
…
Tender events are meeting halves and wholes of affinity,
the recurrence of whimsy and parallel streams
flush away the blockage of malaise.
Incessant gratitude, pliable kindness smolders
in the husk of these sweet accumulations:
abalone shells, the thoughtful carvings from friends,
the stone of another’s pocket, the photo of mystified
moon over water, the smiles of worn chairs.
…
The sun has its own drum contenting itself with the rose
heart it takes into continual rumbling. The connection
of surface and hand. The great head of dark clouds finds
its own place of unraveled repercussions and disruption,
elsewhere, over the tall, staunch mountains of indemnity.

Advent Again – day 14

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“Talk no more so very proudly”

the-potato-eaters-vincent-van-gogh-big-145861bc61357ebcaa2

“The Potato Eaters” by Vincent Van Gogh

No one can celebrate
a genuine Christmas
without being truly poor.
The self-sufficient, the proud,
those who, because they have
everything, look down on others,
those who have no need
even of God- for them there
will be no Christmas.
Only the poor, the hungry,
those who need someone
to come on their behalf,
will have that someone.
That someone is God.
Emmanuel. God-with-us.
Without poverty of spirit
there can be no abundance of God

– Oscar Romeo

Advent Again – day 13

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“we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home…”

from “One Today” by Richard Blanco

…

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn’t give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always—home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country—all of us—
facing the stars
hope—a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it—together.

starsgavin

Untitled by Gavin Jantjes

 

Advent Again – day 12

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not slow, but making space for all to change…

movement-in-kind-by-matthew-whitney

“Movement in Kind” by Matthew Whitney

from “A Change of Maps” by Carolyne Wright

 

…

Above us, satellites measure the drift

of continents, dissolving vows

of bedrock, offshore shelves conceding

 

all their striations to the sea.

They track the moon’s loosening orbit,

explorer shuttle homing in

with batteries of data, micro-

 

chips shrinking our wildest dreams.

We roll up the old cartographies

coordinates overlaid with newer,

more transparent certainties

 

in the subatomic shadows’ glare.

Where now? we want to know of landscape –

houses and poplars and children the maps

and master planners have no idea of.

 

Our arrival will coincide with the true

colors of our going. We look

both ways for distances that shift

their bearings in our favor.

 

 

Advent Again – day 11

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“out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks”

 

hirotoshi-ito_stone_sculpture

stone sculpture by Hirotoshi Ito

from “The Words Under the Words” by Naomi Shihab Nye

My grandmother’s eyes say Allah is everywhere, even in death.
When she talks of the orchard and the new olive press,
when she tells the stories of Joha and his foolish wisdoms,
He is her first thought, what she really thinks of is His name.
“Answer, if you hear the words under the words—
otherwise it is just a world with a lot of rough edges,
difficult to get through, and our pockets full of stones.”