Monday, August 22, 2005

Dasheth Thy Little Ones Against the Stones.

There’s a post by Tim Murphy over at Fresh Bilge that is required reading for historical, sociological, psychological, and other logical reasons, as well as poetics. The poet discussed is the once and future King David:
Yet he was also arguably the first major lyric poet known to us. His verse has remarkable range: some of his psalms extol the beauty and bounty of God’s creation; in some he expresses grief for the strife that besets his kingdom. He implores the favor and forgiveness of God, yet he also anathemizes his enemies with wanton anger.
I don’t think I’ve read anything as perversely powerful as the last line of Psalm 137 which Murphy reprints in whole. And these lines from Psalm 104 could be a Native American poem, a naturalistic devotion:
19 He appointed the moon for seasons: the sun knoweth his going down.

20 Thou makest darkness, and it is night: wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth.

21 The young lions roar after their prey, and seek their meat from God.
That 21st line is open to all the elements.

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