The Poet

Last weekend I had the opportunity to speak about poetry. It was a welcome surprise. I had 10 minutes to decide what to say and 5 minutes to present the material. The kernel of what I said centred on the imagination. Poetry, I said, is the unique expression of creative consciousness. This is perhaps best understood by the following quote from Owen Barfield:

To be able to experience the representations as idols, and then to be able also to perform the act of figuration consciously, so as to experience them as participated; that is imagination.

The imagination is unique in that it is experiential, it cannot be readily shared except through the creative process of poetry, music, art and so on, and then only imperfectly. When I read a book I allow the words to become images in my mind which is a sharing in the imagination of the author. You might see something different to me, though it is no less real to either of us, it is however, different.

The poet, one such as Cædmon, is able to create a whole world 9 lines. Others such as Tolkien have not only created worlds but languages, peoples and beings that reflect elements of our inner lives. These poets participated in God’s inner life. They did so by following the exoteric teaching of the Catholic Church, and consciously or unconsciously purified their disordered lower centres through fasting, prayer and diligence. I will leave you to be the judge when it comes to the following poets and their poems.

Three poems on the Nativity

Saint Robert Southwell The Burning Babe

John Milton On the Morning of the Nativity

William Butler Yeats The Second Coming

Edit: Perhaps The Nativity of Christ by Southwell would have been more appropriate, however I do like The Burning Babe. Both speak of a purification by Christ in us through a consuming fire or by consuming bread.