Master of beauty, craftsman of the snowflake,
inimitable contriver,
endower of Earth so gorgeous & different from
the boring Moon,
thank you for such as it is my gift.
I have made up a morning prayer to you
containing with precision everything that most
matters.
'According to Thy will' the thing begins.
It took me off & on two days. It does not aim at
eloquence.
You have come to my rescue again & again
in my impassable, sometimes despairing years.
You have allowed my brilliant friends to
destroy themselves
and I am still here, severely damaged, but
functioning.
Unknowable, as I am unknown to my guinea
pigs:
How can I 'love' you?
I only as far as gratitude & awe
confidently & absolutely go.
I have no idea whether we live again.
It doesn't seem likely
from either the scientific or the philosophical
point of view
but certainly all things are possible to you,
and I believe as fixedly in the Resurrection
appearances to Peter and
to Paul
as I believe I sit in this blue chair.
Only that may have been a special case
to establish their initiatory faith.
Whatever your end may be, accept my
amazement.
May I stand until death forever at attention
for any your least instruction or enlightenment.
I even feel sure you will assist me again, Master
of insight & beauty.
--John Berryman (1914–1972), American poet, teacher, Pulitzer Prize winner, and intellectual, one of the towering figures of late 20th century American poetry, especially of the Confessional school.
Although much of his life his religous affiliation could best be termed as a "seeker," he underwent a late conversion to Roman Catholicism while undergoing treatment for alcoholism in 1970, two years prior to his death . He then wrote a series of religious poems, notably Eleven Addresses to the Lord, in which this poem was pubblished, and Delusions, Inc.
