Showing posts with label RTHH. Show all posts
Showing posts with label RTHH. Show all posts

Thursday, August 31, 2023

Night Feed



This is dawn. Believe me
This is your season, little daughter:
The moment daisies open,
The hour mercurial rainwater
Makes a mirror for sparrows.
It's time we drowned our sorrows.

I tiptoe in.
I lift you up
Wriggling
In your rosy, zipped sleeper.
Yes this is the hour
For the early bird and me
When finder is keeper.

I crook the bottle.
How you suckle!
This is the best I can be:
Housewife
To this nursery
Where you hold on,
Dear life.

A silt of milk.
The last suck.
And now your eyes are open
Birth-coloured and offended.
Earth wakes.
You go back to sleep.
The feed is ended.

Worms turn.
Stars go in.
Even the moon is losing face.
Poplars stilt for dawn
And we begin
The long fall from grace.
I tuck you in.

-- Eavan Boland (1944-2020) pre-eminent modern Irish poet and trailblazer, academic and professor at Stanford University.

Image: Breastfeeding mural (detail), Hyuro (female street artist), Barcelona, Spain 2016.

Tuesday, August 29, 2023

Marston Childbirth Prayer



(Version 1)
All Powerful, Eternal God,
     without end of beginning,
     who created everything out of nothing;
by whose power the sea was created,
     which never extends to the furthest reaches;
who made the earth and contains the flow of winds in the caves,
     and who ever now brings forth seeds out of the hardest wood with unimaginable power;
who formed Adam from the dust of the earth, and forming woman from his side,
     joined her and him in matrimony,
and for the sake of growing future generations,
     gave them perpetual progeny and a blessing, saying:
"Be fruitful and multiply, 
     and fill the earth 
          and have dominion over the birds of the air 
          and the fish of the sea 
          and beasts too, of all kinds;" 
who extraordinarily made Abraham the Patriarch and his wife Sarah fertile, 
     granting the elderly pair offspring unexpectedly 
     despite their advanced age;
who also, with the Holy Spirit, 
     sent your son, our Lord Jesus Christ, 
     from your bosom to the womb of the immaculate Virgin,
so that he might lie hidden in the pregnant woman 
     as in a house in accordance with the human law,
and after the proper nine months of service, 
     as if heaving his bedroom, 
     with hs birth he leaves the Virgin's womb,
who furthermore, through that son, 
     and with twelve Apostles, 

I pray to you, God the Father,
     that the aid of your pity might extend to your pregnant servant,
          heavy with child,
     so that she may prevail in producing a child pleasing to you,
     without danger of death,
     and in nourishing a child worthy of serving you
          and devoted to worshipping you. 

By our same Lord, etc.




(Version 2)
All Powerful, Eternal God,
     without end of beginning,
     who created everything out of nothing;
by whose power the sea was created,
     which never extends to the furthest reaches;
who made the earth and contains the flow of winds in the caves,
     and who ever now brings forth seeds out of the hardest wood with unimaginable power;
who formed Adam from the dust of the earth, and forming woman from his side,
     joined her and him in matrimony,
and for the sake of growing future generations,
     gave them perpetual progeny and a blessing, saying:
"Be fruitful and multiply, 
     and fill the earth 
          and have dominion over the birds of the air 
          and the fish of the sea 
          and beasts too, of all kinds;" 
who extraordinarily made Abraham the Patriarch and his wife Sarah fertile, 
     granting the elderly pair offspring unexpectedly 
     despite their advanced age;
who also, with the Holy Spirit, 
     sent your son, our Lord Jesus Christ, 
     from your bosom to the womb of the immaculate Virgin,
so that he might lie hidden in the pregnant woman 
     as in a house in accordance with the human law,
and after the proper nine months of service, 
     as if heaving his bedroom, 
     with hs birth he leaves the Virgin's womb,
who furthermore, through that son, 
     and with twelve Apostles and other Christians,
made a promise, saying,
"Whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he will give it to you;" 

through that son, 
just as through the Holy Spirit,
I pray to you, God the Father,
     that the aid of your pity might extend to your pregnant servant,
          heavy with child,
     so that she may prevail in producing a child pleasing to you,
     without danger of death,
     and in nourishing a child worthy of serving you
          and devoted to worshipping you. 

By our same Lord, etc.

-- Anonymous (translated from Latin by Runqi Zhang). From a medieval manuscript known as the Marston Book of Hours, originally from England. While the original manuscript is dated from 1250, this prayer is believed to have been added later, in the 4th century. Found at the Global Medieval Sourcebook: A Digital Repository of Medieval Texts, at Stanford University.

As noted in the Introduction:

"Childbirth in medieval Europe was often the most dangerous experience of a woman's life. Because of poor hygiene and a lack of gynecological knowledge, scholars have estimated that as many as ten percent of women died during childbirth or immediately afterwards. Not only did mothers die in large numbers, but as many as thirty percent of children died in the process of childbirth. In the face of these dangers, medieval people used a wide variety of charms and prayers in an attempt to improve their chances of a successful delivery.

"The Marston Childbirth Prayer is a late 14th-century childbirth prayer from England, written in Latin. This prayer provides rare insight into the life of a medieval woman, speaking directly to one of the most intimate and dangerous experiences of her life.

"The prayer draws primarily on three stories from the Christian Bible: the creation of the world, the conception of Isaac, and the conception and birth of Christ. The first part of the prayer focuses on God's generative power: the creation of land and sea, plants and animals, and Adam and Eve. The next part recalls the birth of Isaac, focusing on the miraculous fertility of Abraham and Sarah despite their advanced ages. The prayer then turns to the conception and birth of Jesus, focusing both on Mary's pregnant body and on the divine nature of her son. The three biblical narratives referenced in Marston MS 22 are all concerned with generation and are the three main foundation stories in Christianity: the birth of the world, the birth of Judaism (through Isaac, the grandfather of the twelve tribes of Israel), and the birth of Christianity (through Christ). The prayer concludes with a reminder of Christ's promise that God would intervene on behalf of those who cry out in his name. This allows the prayer, in its final lines, to petition for both mother and child to survive the pregnancy.

"Of key interest here is the way this prayer may have been used to aid a woman in childbirth. By reminding her of the biblical birthing narratives, it links the individual medieval woman with her broader Christian community and the longer arc of Christian history. In this way, the woman may feel connected to the biblical mothers it mentions and draw confidence that she, too, will be able to safely give birth."


Citation: Anonymous. "Marston Childbirth Prayer." Trans. Runqi Zhang. Global Medieval Sourcebookhttp://sourcebook.stanford.edu/text/marston-childbirth-prayer. Retrieved on August 1, 2023.
     


Sunday, August 27, 2023

Ultrasound



Novel unbegun,
half-loaf rising,
lighthouse northward
and anchor south.

Lemon to grapefruit,
you sleep-step sidewise,
turnover, pop-up,
tongue in the mouth.

-- Rachel Richardson ( ) Berkeley born and based American poet

Scripture passages of Encouragement



2 Samuel 22:2-51 (Common English Bible) see also Psalm 18
2b The Lord is my solid rock, my fortress, my rescuer.
3 My God is my rock—I take refuge in him!—
     he’s my shield and my salvation’s strength,
     my place of safety and my shelter.
     My savior! Save me from violence!
4 Because he is praiseworthy,
     I cried out to the Lord,
     and I was saved from my enemies.
5 Death’s waves were all around me;
     rivers of wickedness terrified me.
6 The cords of the grave surrounded me;
     death’s traps held me tight.
7 In my distress I cried out to the Lord;
     I cried out to my God.
God heard my voice from his temple;
     my cry for help reached his ears.

8 The earth rocked and shook;
     the sky’s foundations trembled
     and reeled because of God’s anger.
9 Smoke went up from God’s nostrils;
     out of his mouth came a devouring fire;
     flaming coals blazed out in front of him!
10 God parted the skies and came down;
     thick darkness was beneath his feet.
11 God mounted the heavenly creatures and flew;
     he was seen on the wind’s wings.
12 God made darkness his covering;
     water gathered in dense clouds!
13 Coals of fire blazed out of the brightness before him.
14 The Lord thundered from heaven;
     the Most High made his voice heard.
15 God shot arrows, scattering the enemy;
     he sent the lightning and whipped them into confusion.
16 The seabeds were exposed;
     the earth’s foundations were laid bare at the Lord’s rebuke,
          at the angry blast of air coming from his nostrils.

17 From on high God reached down and grabbed me;
     he took me out of deep waters.
18 God saved me from my powerful enemy,
     saved me from my foes, who were too much for me.
19 They came at me on the very day of my distress,
     but the Lord was my support.
20 He brought me out to wide-open spaces;
     he pulled me out, because he is pleased with me.
21 The Lord rewarded me for my righteousness;
     he restored me because my hands are clean,
22 because I have kept the Lord’s ways.
     I haven’t acted wickedly against my God.
23 All his rules are right in front of me;
     I haven’t turned away from any of his laws.
24 I have lived with integrity before him;
     I’ve kept myself from wrongdoing.
25 And so the Lord restored me for my righteousness,
     because I am clean in his eyes.

26 You deal faithfully with the faithful;
     you show integrity toward the one who has integrity.
27 You are pure toward the pure,
     but toward the crooked, you are tricky.
28 You are the one who saves people who suffer,
     but your eyes are against the proud.
     You bring them down!
29 You are my lamp, Lord;
     the Lord illumines my darkness.
30 With you I can charge into battle;
     with my God I can leap over a wall.
31 God! His way is perfect;
     the Lord’s word is tried and true.
He is a shield for all who take refuge in him.
     
32 Now really, who is divine except the Lord?
     And who is a rock except our God?
33 Only God! My mighty fortress,
     who makes my way perfect,
34 who makes my step as sure as the deer’s,
     who lets me stand securely on the heights,
35 who trains my hands for war
     so my arms can bend a bronze bow.
36 You’ve given me the shield of your salvation;
     your help has made me great.
37 You’ve let me walk fast and safe,
     without even twisting an ankle.
38 I chased my enemies and destroyed them!
     I didn’t come home until I finished them off.
39 I ate them up! I struck them down!
     They couldn’t get up;
          they fell under my feet.
40 You equipped me with strength for war;
     you brought my adversaries down underneath me.
41 You made my enemies turn tail from me;
     I destroyed my foes.
42 They looked around, but there was no one to save them.
     They looked to the Lord, but he wouldn’t answer them.
43 I crushed them like dust on the ground;
     I stomped on them, trampled them like mud dumped in the streets.
44 You delivered me from struggles with many people;
     you appointed me the leader of many nations.
     Strangers come to serve me.
45 Foreigners grovel before me;
     after hearing about me, they obey me.
46 Foreigners lose their nerve;
     they come trembling out of their fortresses.[e]

47 The Lord lives! Bless God, my rock!
     Let my God, the rock of my salvation, be lifted high!
48 This is the God who avenges on my behalf,
     who subdues peoples before me,
49 who rescues me from my enemies.
You lifted me high above my adversaries;
     you delivered me from violent people.
50 That’s why I thank you, Lord, in the presence of the nations.
     That’s why I sing praises to your name.
51 You are the one who gives great victories to your king,
     who shows faithful love to your anointed one—
     to David and to his descendants forever.


Psalm 18 (Common English Bible, adapted) see also 2 Samuel 22 above
1 I love you, Lord, my strength.
2 The Lord is my solid rock,
     my fortress, my rescuer.
My God is my rock—
I take refuge in God!—
     you are my shield,
     my salvation’s strength,
     my place of safety.
3 Because God is praiseworthy,
     I cried out to the Lord,
     and I was saved from my enemies.
4 Death’s cords were wrapped around me;
     rivers of wickedness terrified me.
5 The cords of the grave surrounded me;
     death’s traps held me tight.
6 In my distress I cried out to the Lord;
     I called to my God for help.
God heard my voice from his temple;
     I called to him for help, and my call reached his ears.

7 The earth rocked and shook;
     the bases of the mountains trembled and reeled
     because of God’s anger.
8 Smoke went up from God’s nostrils;
     out of his mouth came a devouring fire;
     flaming coals blazed out in front of God!
9 God parted the skies and came down;
     thick darkness was beneath God's feet.
10 God mounted the heavenly creatures and flew;
     God soared on the wings of the wind.
11 God made darkness cloak him;
     God's covering was dark water and dense cloud.
12 God’s clouds went ahead of the brightness before God;
     hail and coals of fire went too.
13 The Lord thundered in heaven;
     the Most High's voice was heard with hail and coals of fire.
14 God shot arrows, scattering the enemy;
     God sent the lightning and threw them into confusion.
15 The seabeds were exposed;
     the earth’s foundations were laid bare at your rebuke, Lord,
     at the angry blast of air coming from your nostrils.

16 From on high God reached down and grabbed me;
     God took me out of all that water.
17 God saved me from my powerful enemy,
     saved me from my foes, who were too much for me.
18 They came at me on the very day of my distress,
     but the Lord was my support.
19 God brought me out to wide-open spaces;
     god pulled me out safe because he is pleased with me.
20 The Lord rewarded me for my righteousness;
     God restored me because my hands are clean,
21 because I have kept the Lord’s ways.
     I haven’t acted wickedly against my God.
22 All God's rules are right in front of me;
     I haven’t turned away from any of God's laws.
23 I have lived with integrity before God;
     I’ve kept myself from wrongdoing.
24 And so the Lord restored me for my righteousness
     because my hands are clean in God's eyes.

25 You deal faithfully with the faithful;
     you show integrity toward the one who has integrity.
26 You are pure toward the pure,
     but toward the crooked, you are tricky.
27 You are the one who saves people who suffer
     and brings down those with proud eyes.
28 You are the one who lights my lamp—
     the Lord my God illumines my darkness.
29 With you I can charge into battle;
     with my God I can leap over a wall.
30 God! Your way is perfect;
     the Lord’s word is tried and true.
you are a shield for all who take refuge in you.

31 Now really, who is divine except the Lord?
     And who is a rock but our God?
32 Only God! The God who equips me with strength
     and makes my way perfect,
33 who makes my step as sure as the deer’s,
     who lets me stand securely on the heights,
34 who trains my hands for war
     so my arms can bend a bronze bow.
35 You’ve given me the shield of your salvation;
     your strong hand has supported me;
     your help has made me great.
36 You’ve let me walk fast and safe,
     without even twisting an ankle.
37 I chased my enemies and caught them!
     I didn’t come home until I finished them off.
38 I struck them down;
     they couldn’t get up again;
     they fell under my feet.
39 You equipped me with strength for war;
     you brought my adversaries down underneath me.
40 You made my enemies turn tail from me;
     I destroyed my foes.
41 They cried for help,
     but there was no one to save them.
They cried for help to the Lord,
     but he wouldn’t answer them.
42 I crushed them like dust blown away by the wind;
     I threw them out like mud dumped in the streets.
43 You delivered me from struggles with many people;
     you appointed me the leader of many nations.
          Strangers come to serve me.
44 After hearing about me, they obey me;
     foreigners grovel before me.
45 Foreigners lose their nerve;
     they come trembling out of their fortresses.

46 The Lord lives! Bless God, my rock!
     Let the God of my salvation be lifted high!
47 This is the God who avenges on my behalf,
     who subdues people before me,
48 who delivers me from my enemies.
Yes, you lifted me high above my adversaries;
     you delivered me from violent people.
49 That’s why I thank you, Lord, in the presence of the nations.
     That’s why I sing praises to your name.
50 You are the one who gives great victories to your king,
     who shows faithful love to your anointed one—
     to David and to his descendants forever.


Psalm 139:1-18 (Common English Bible)
1 Lord, you have examined me.
     You know me.
2 You know when I sit down and when I stand up.
     Even from far away, you comprehend my plans.
3 You study my traveling and resting.
     You are thoroughly familiar with all my ways.
4 There isn’t a word on my tongue, Lord,
     that you don’t already know completely.
5 You surround me—front and back.
     You put your hand on me.
6 That kind of knowledge is too much for me;
     it’s so high above me that I can’t reach it.

7 Where could I go to get away from your spirit?
     Where could I go to escape your presence?
8 If I went up to heaven, you would be there.
     If I went down to the grave,[a] you would be there too!
9 If I could fly on the wings of dawn,
     stopping to rest only on the far side of the ocean—
10 even there your hand would guide me;
     even there your strong hand would hold me tight!
11 If I said, “The darkness will definitely hide me;
     the light will become night around me,”
12 even then the darkness isn’t too dark for you!
     Nighttime would shine bright as day,
     because darkness is the same as light to you!

13 You are the one who created my innermost parts;
     you knit me together while I was still in my mother’s womb.
14 I give thanks to you that I was marvelously set apart.
     Your works are wonderful—I know that very well.
15 My bones weren’t hidden from you
     when I was being put together in a secret place,
     when I was being woven together in the deep parts of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my embryo,
     and on your scroll every day was written
      that was being formed for me,
     before any one of them had yet happened.
17 God, your plans are incomprehensible to me!
     Their total number is countless!
18 If I tried to count them—they outnumber grains of sand!
     If I came to the very end—I’d still be with you.



Psalm 46 (Common English Bible, adapted)
1 God is our refuge and strength,
     a help always near in times of great trouble.
2 That’s why we won’t be afraid when the world falls apart,
     when the mountains crumble into the center of the sea,
3 when its waters roar and rage,
     when the mountains shake because of its surging waves. Selah

4 There is a river whose streams gladden God’s city,
     the holiest dwelling of the Most High.
5 God is in that city. It will never crumble.
     God will help it when morning dawns.
6 Nations roar; kingdoms crumble.
     God utters his voice; the earth melts.
7 The Lord of heavenly forces is with us!
     The God of Jacob is our place of safety.                          Selah

8 Come, see the Lord’s deeds,
     what devastation he has imposed on the earth—
9 bringing wars to an end in every corner of the world,
     breaking the bow and shattering the spear,
          burning chariots with fire.

10 “That’s enough! Now know that I am God!
     I am exalted among all nations; I am exalted throughout the world!”

11 The Lord of heavenly forces is with us!
     The God of Jacob is our place of safety.                        Selah


Isaiah 41:10 (Common English Bible)
Don't fear, because I am with you;
     don't be afraid, for I am your God.
     I will strengthen you,
     I will surely help you;
     I will hold you with my righteous strong hand.

Isaiah 41:26-31 (Common English Bible, adapted)
Look up at the sky and consider:
     Who created these?
The one who brings out their attendants one by one
     summoning each of them by name.
Because of God's great strength
     and mighty power, not one is missing.
Why do you say, Jacob, and declare, Israel,
     "My way is hidden from the LORD,
     my God ignores my predicament?"
Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard?
     The LORD is the everlasting God,
     the creator of the ends of the earth.
     God doesn’t grow tired or weary.
God's understanding is beyond human reach,
     giving power to the tired
     and reviving the exhausted.
Youths will become tired and weary,
     young people will certainly stumble;
     but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength;
     they will fly up on wings like eagles;
     they will run and not be tired;
     they will walk and not be weary.



Isaiah 43:1b-3a (Common English Bible)
Don’t fear, for I have redeemed you;
     I have called you by name; you are mine.
2 When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
     when through the rivers, they won’t sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you won’t be scorched
     and flame won’t burn you.
3 I am the Lord your God,
     the holy one of Israel, your savior.



Thursday, August 24, 2023

This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John (Poem 45)




Sad, sick, and lame, as in my bed I lay,
Lest pain and passion should bear all the sway,
My thoughts being free, I bid them take their flight
Above the gloomy shades of death and night.
They, overjoyed with such a large commission,
Flew instantly, without all intermission,
Up to that sphere where night’s pale queen doth run
Round the circumference of the illustrious sun.
Her globious body spacious was, and bright;
That half alone that from Sol’s beams had light;
The other was immured in shades of night.
Nor did she seem to me as poets feign:
Guiding her chariot with a silver rein,
Attired like some fair nymph or virgin queen,
With naked neck and arms and robes of green.
Lovesick Endymion oft hath thus her seen;
But as my thoughts about her orb was hurled,
I did perceive she was another world.
Thus being in my fancy raised so far,
This world appeared to me another star;
And as the moon a shadow casts and light,
So is our Earth the empress of their night.
Next, Venus, usher to the night and day,
Her full-faced beauty to me did display;
Sometimes she wanéd, then again increase,
Which in our humors cause or war or peace.
My fancy next to Mercury would run,
But craftily he popped behind the sun.
A wonder ’tis, the medium being so bright,
His splendency should be obscured by light.
Nor could I Sol’s refulgent orb descry:
His radiant beams dazzled my tender eye;
And now my wonder is again renewed,
That he, enlightening all, could not be viewed.
Yet to my reason this appeared the best:
That he the center was of all the rest
The planets, all like bowls still trundling round
The vast circumference of his glorious mound;
He, resting, quickens all with heat and light,
And by the Earth’s motion makes our day or night.
Next Jupiter, that mild auspicious star:
I did perceive about his blazing car
Four bright attendants always hurried round;
Next flagrant Mars, where no such moons are found;
Then Saturn (whose aspects so sads my soul)
About whose orb two sickly Cynthias roll;
Then on the fixed stars I would have gazed,
But their vast brightness so my mind amazed
That my affrighted fancy downward flew
Just as the Hours Aurora’s curtain drew,
At which the ugly wife of Acheron
Bid drive, and slashed her drowsy monsters on;
With her there went her firstborn brat, old Error,
And fierce Eumenides, poor mortals’ terror,
Who with their snakes, and whips, and brands, were hurled
To strike amazement to the lower world;
Being scared themselves at the approach of light,
To our antipodes they took their flight.
Sin’s curséd offspring with their dam did trace,
That most prodigious, incestuous race:
Pale, ghastly, shuddering Horror, lost Despair,
And sobbing Sorrow, tearing off her hair:
These of her sable womb were born and bred,
And from the light with her now frighted fled;
And then my maids my window curtains drew,
And, as my pain, so comforts did renew.
Unto the God of truth, light, life, and love,
I’ll such lays here begin shall end above.

-- Hester Pulter (nee Ley; pen-name Hadassah) (1605-1678), English poet who wrote extensively about childbirth and marriage. Located at The Pulter Project from Northwestern University. Edited by Leah Knight and Wendy Wall. Found at https://pulterproject.northwestern.edu/poems/ae/this-was-written-in-1648-when-i-lay-in-with-my-son-john/ 

Headnote for this poem:
Paralyzed on what might be your death bed, what could you do but think? Pulter—immobile after delivering her fifteenth child—defies paralysis and pain by exerting paradoxical control over her otherwise free thoughts: free from all but her bidding, anyhow. With god-like power she commands their almost angelic flight beyond the sickroom, first to join the speeding orbit of the moon. From this vantage, her astronomical discoveries counter other poetic claims: Pulter’s moon is no mythological goddess, for instance, but “another world” from which the Earth itself appears (quite radically) to be a moon. Her fancy spirals further yet to other astral bodies on which her reasoning proves informed by recent science; by dawn, however, the very illuminations of this flight of fancy prove overwhelming, and her dazzled thoughts are curtailed to her curtained bedroom, just as a classicized Night is driven out with her allegorical children (Error, Horror, Despair, Sorrow), all terrified of the coming light. The poem ends with an early modern version of that most paradoxical of endings: “To be continued…”—in this case, a promise underwritten by Pulter’s dedication of such verse to the deity whose various lights she is by turns informed, delighted, and frightened by.

As noted in the introduction about her:

Pulter gave birth to eight daughters and seven sons over the course of almost a quarter of a century (between 1624 and 1648). Evidence from the poems suggests more than one of these pregnancies and births was associated with periods of serious illness and associated confinement. All but two of these fifteen children predeceased Pulter, and a number of their deaths are mourned in her verse. Her own death is also anticipated and indeed often welcomed in many poems as a relief from earthly suffering, both physical (in references to her sick and aging body) and mental (not only grief but a more general melancholy and anxious insomnia). Pulter’s poems also show her taking comfort in a God roughly recognizable as the one endorsed by the Church of England, a spiritual position conforming neatly with her secular politics, or even inseparable from them. Theologically, her focus is most frequently on eschatology: especially her own eventual reunion with her soul and God in heaven at the Day of Judgment, long after her death and (often vividly imagined) corporeal dissolution.



Image: A Birth Scene (Lying In), Master of Charles of Durazzo (Francesco_di_Michele)  c. 1410 Harvard Art Museum

Junius Childbirth Charm (Medieval)



The Virgin Mary gave birth to Christ. The infertile Elizabeth gave birth to John the Baptist. I urge you, child, whether you are male or female, but the Father and the Son and the holy Spirit, to come out and move beyond. Mat you not harm the child or make him foolish. Amen. The Lord, seeing the wailing sisters of Lazarus, wept in front of the tomb. In the presence of the Jews, he exclaimed, "Lazarus, come out!" And he who had been dead for four days came out with his hands and feet bound.

Write this in wax which has never been worked on and bind it under her right foot.

--Anonymous, English and Latin text, 11th century, translated by Runqi Zhang. Found at the Global Medieval Sourcebook: A Digital Repository of Medieval Texts, at Stanford University.

From the introduction:

"Childbirth in medieval Europe was often the most dangerous experience of a woman's life. Because of poor hygiene and a lack of gynecological knowledge, scholars have estimated that as many as ten percent of women died during childbirth or immediately afterwards. Not only did mothers die in large numbers, but as many as thirty percent of children died in the process of childbirth. In the face of these dangers, medieval people used a wide variety of charms and prayers in an attempt to improve their chances of a successful delivery.

The charm presented here was composed in England in the eleventh century CE and is an example of a “peperit charm”. The name comes from the Latin word peperit (“gave birth to”). This word occurs frequently in these charms, because they list the biblical women who gave birth to children. Indeed, a peperit charm can be identified by its sequence of holy mothers, one of the most widespread motifs in medieval childbirth charms. Typically, as is the case here, a peperit charm will invoke the names of holy mothers one by one. Some examples will contain other formulations, whether to add to the functions to the charm or to enhance its effects. This charm contains three additional features that can be found in other childbirth charms: an appeal to the unborn child to leave the womb; the account of Lazarus’s resurrection with its climactic words, “Lazarus, come forth!”; instructions for how to turn the prayer into an amulet that the laboring woman can wear on her body.

In the case of the Junius Peperit Charm, the instructions for turning the prayer into an amulet state that the charm should be written on wax that has never been used before and bound to the woman’s right foot. The requirement for unworked wax (also known as “virgin” wax) is interesting, seeming to emphasize the sacramental quality of the prayer. The instruction to attach the prayer to the pregnant woman's body suggests that there was a hope that she could connect with its content in an embodied way, drawing on its power to support her own body during childbirth.

In comparison to childbirth prayers, an example of which is presented in this collection https://sourcebook.stanford.edu/text/marston-childbirth-prayer, this charm has minimal narrative content, focusing instead on the invocation of biblical names. It is quite possible that this charm, or at least the first part of it, would have been repeatedly chanted during a woman's labor. Hearing the familiar names of biblical mothers might have served to calm and encourage the laboring woman, reassuring her that she too could deliver her child safely.


Citation: Anonymous. "Junius Childbirth Charm." Trans. Runqi Zhang. Global Medieval Sourcebookhttp://sourcebook.stanford.edu/text/junius-childbirth-charm. Retrieved on August 1, 2023.

Wednesday, August 23, 2023

Hymn



If to distant lands I scatter
If I sail to farthest seas
Would you find and firm and gather
'til I only dwell in Thee?

If I flee from greenest pastures
Would you leave to look for me?
Forfeit glory to come after
'Til I only dwell in Thee

If my heart has one ambition
If my soul one goal to seek
This my solitary vision
'til I only dwell in Thee

That I only dwell in Thee
'Til I only dwell in Thee

-- Brooke Fraser, New-Zealand singer-songwriter and Christian

Friday, August 18, 2023

Parturition



I am the centre
Of a circle of pain
Exceeding its boundaries in every direction

The business of the bland sun
Has no affair with me
In my congested cosmos of agony
From which there is no escape
On infinitely prolonged nerve-vibrations
Or in contraction
To the pinpoint nucleus of being

Locate an irritation              without
It is                                              within
                                                       Within
It is without
The sensitized area
Is identical                with the extensity
Of intension

I am the false quantity
In the harmony of physiological potentiality
To which
Gaining self-control
I should be consonant
In time

Pain is no stronger than the resisting force
Pain calls up in me
The struggle is equal

The open window is full of a voice
A fashionable portrait painter
Running upstairs to a woman’s apartment
Sings
          “All the girls are tid’ly did’ly
          All the girls are nice
          Whether they wear their hair in curls
          Or —”
At the back of the thoughts to which I permit crystallization
The conception                        Brute
Why?
         The irresponsibility of the male
Leaves woman her superior Inferiority.
He is running upstairs

I am climbing a distorted mountain of agony
Incidentally with the exhaustion of control
I reach the summit
And gradually subside into anticipation of

Repose
Which never comes.
For another mountain is growing up
Which goaded by the unavoidable
I must traverse
Traversing myself

Something in the delirium of night hours
Confuses while intensifying sensibility
Blurring spatial contours
So aiding elusion of the circumscribed
That the gurgling of a crucified wild beast
Comes from so far away
And the foam on the stretched muscles of a mouth
Is no part of myself
There is a climax in sensibility
When pain surpassing itself
Becomes exotic
And the ego succeeds in unifying the positive and negative poles of sensation
Uniting the opposing and resisting forces
In lascivious revelation

Relaxation
Negation of myself as a unit
Vacuum interlude
I should have been emptied of life
Giving life

For consciousness in crises            races
Through the subliminal deposits of evolutionary processes

Have I not
Somewhere
Scrutinized
A dead white feathered moth
Laying eggs?
A moment
Being realization
Can
Vitalized by cosmic initiation
Furnish an adequate apology
For the objective
Agglomeration of activities
Of a life
LIFE
A leap with nature
Into the essence
Of unpredicted Maternity
Against my thigh
Tough of infinitesimal motion
Scarcely perceptible
Undulation
Warmth              moisture
Stir of incipient life
Precipitating into me

The contents of the universe
Mother I am
Identical
     With infinite Maternity
     Indivisible
     Acutely
     I am absorbed
     Into
The was—is—ever—shall—be
Of cosmic reproductivity

Rises from the subconscious
Impression of a cat
With blind kittens
Among her legs
Same undulating life-stir
I am that cat

Rises from the sub-conscious
Impression of small animal carcass
Covered with blue bottles
—Epicurean—
And through the insects
Waves that same undulation of living
Death
Life
I am knowing
All about


     Unfolding


The next morning
Each woman-of-the-people
Tiptoeing the red pile of the carpet
Doing hushed service
Each woman-of-the-people
Wearing a halo
A ludicrous little halo
Of which she is sublimely unaware

I once heard in a church
—Man and woman God made them—
                                                         Thank God.


-- Mina Loy (1882-1966), radical British painter and Futurist poet, written in 1914.

Image: Motherhood, by Dorothea Tanning (surrealist), oil on canvas, 1947

Tuesday, August 15, 2023

In Memory of My Dear Grandchild Anne Bradstreet Who Deceased June 20, 1669, Being Three Years and Seven Months Old



With troubled heart and trembling hand I write,
The heavens have changed to sorrow my delight.
How oft with disappointment have I met,
When I on fading things my hopes have set.
Experience might ‘fore this have made me wise,
To value things according to their price.
Was ever stable joy yet found below?
Or perfect bliss without mixture of woe?
I knew she was but as a withering flower,
That’s here today, perhaps gone in an hour;
Like as a bubble, or the brittle glass,
Or like a shadow turning as it was.
More fool then I to look on that was lent
As if mine own, when thus impermanent.
Farewell dear child, thou ne’er shall come to me,
But yet a little while, and I shall go to thee;
Mean time my throbbing heart’s cheered up with this:
Thou with thy Saviour art in endless bliss.


-- Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672), British born American Puritan poet; first woman poet to gain acclaim in the New World and New England. She emigrated to America in 1630 with her father and her husband aboard the Arbella and settled in Ipswich, MA. She bore eight children between 1632-1655. From her book The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America.

This elegy, one of several she wrote during the catastrophic year of 1669, was written when her namesake grandchild died, and is remarkable for its bitterness indirectly aimed at God, and is representative of her struggle with accepting the Puritan belief that death was merely the passage to eternal joy in Heaven.

Due to the eventual longer lifespans of Puritans in the new World as compared to Europe once the colonies were established, it was said that "New England invented grandparents."


You can find excellent commentary on this poem by Janice Miller Porter here.

Monday, August 14, 2023

Before the Birth of One of Her Children



All things within this fading world hath end,
Adversity doth still our joyes attend;
No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,
But with death’s parting blow is sure to meet.
The sentence past is most irrevocable,
A common thing, yet oh inevitable.
How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend,
How soon’t may be thy Lot to lose thy friend,
We are both ignorant, yet love bids me
These farewell lines to recommend to thee,
That when that knot’s untied that made us one,
I may seem thine, who in effect am none.
And if I see not half my dayes that’s due,
What nature would, God grant to yours and you;
The many faults that well you know I have
Let be interr’d in my oblivious grave;
If any worth or virtue were in me,
Let that live freshly in thy memory
And when thou feel’st no grief, as I no harms,
Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms.
And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains
Look to my little babes, my dear remains.
And if thou love thyself, or loved’st me,
These o protect from step Dames injury.
And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse,
With some sad sighs honour my absent Herse;
And kiss this paper for thy loves dear sake,
Who with salt tears this last Farewel did take.

-- Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672), British born American Puritan poet; first woman poet to gain acclaim in the New World and New England. She emigrated to America in 1630 with her father and her husband aboard the Arbella and settled in Ipswich, MA. She bore eight children between 1632-1655. From her book The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America.

Sunday, August 13, 2023

The Pool



Are you alive?
I touch you.
You quiver like a sea-fish.
I cover you with my net.
What are you—banded one?

-- H. D. (1886-1961), Hilda Doolittle, memoirist, novelist, essayist, and modernist poet written as she expected her first child in 1915.

Saturday, June 24, 2023

Foster Care



Each house smells of strangers:
cabbage boiling on the stove,
harsh soap at the rim of the sink,
starched sheets that scrape
against the skin in bed,
hard pillows shaped
by someone else’s head,
rotting bananas, sweaty feet and dust.

Each time we come to a new place
I try to hide one shirt
beneath the mattress
just to keep the smell of home.
Sometimes they find it,
squeeze it through the wringer;
hid long enough, the cloth absorbs
the air around it, loses its memories.

My brother smells like sour milk,
unwashed armpits and the school paste
he eats. He cries
when they hit us; I never do.
Each night I hear
his sniffles soak the pillow.
Come morning, I grab the damp case,
hold it to my nose and breathe.



--Terry Wolverton (1954- ), American poet and LGBTQ activist, from Embers, 2003.

Image by Brian Jackson, from stock.adobe.com

Waking with Russell



Whatever the difference is, it all began
the day we woke up face-to-face like lovers
and his four-day-old smile dawned on him again,
possessed him, till it would not fall or waver;
and I pitched back not my old hard-pressed grin
but his own smile, or one I’d rediscovered.
Dear son, I was mezzo del cammin
and the true path was as lost to me as ever
when you cut in front and lit it as you ran.
See how the true gift never leaves the giver:
returned and redelivered, it rolled on
until the smile poured through us like a river.
How fine, I thought, this waking amongst men!
I kissed your mouth and pledged myself forever.

--Don Paterson (1963- ), Scottish poet, writer musician, and winner of the T. S. Eliot prize.
For a discussion of this poem, see here.

"Mezzo del Cammin" means middle aged and lacking direction.

Adoption



I stitched us together by night 
in the rocking chair, marveled 
at your fingers, the foreign navel, 
memorized the sweep of your eyebrows,
unraveled your language. 
Having accepted the unfamiliar,
I kept watch
for proof of our union. 

Tonight I inhale as I kiss 
your perfect face, moist 
from busy dreaming. Your fragrance 
marks me-that fingerprint
only a parent can read. 
I crawl in beside you, grateful 
and patient, to dip us 
with even breath
in this night's ink.



-- Alison Kolodinsky, American/Canadian poet and translator, from Poetry magazine, June 1992

Image: Katie Page of Colorado, who discovered that the baby girl she was getting ready to adopt was also the biological sister of her newly adopted son,

Poems



I am hardly ever able
to sort through my memories
and come away whole
or untroubled.
It is difficult
to sift through the stones,
the weighty moments and know
which is rare gem,
which raw coal,
which worthless shale or slate.
So, one by one,
I drag them across the page
and when one cuts into the white,
leaves a trail of blood,
no matter how narrow the stream,
then I know
I’ve found the real thing,
the diamond,
one of the priceless gems
my pain produced.
“There! There,” I say,
“is a memory worth keeping.”

--Nikki Grimes (1950- ), poet, author, and writer for children, from Poetry magazine.

On the Adoption of Sons: An Anniversary



I stand and watch them, feeling awkward and glad
Like any supernumerary Joseph.
They both are kneeling, the woman and the child,
Their heads together. The closed window makes me
         deaf

But I can see them talking over the bud
Or bug in the summer grass. I watch and love her
For the son I love but never gave her.
She carried him in her prophetic blood

Through ages. And I too suffered the love she suffered
For all the children in all the strangers' houses.
I ached with her meek envy of the mothered
World. And still the little outcast Moses

Lay hidden until one day our telephone
Rang bells from a distant city and sudden flesh
Was made of abstract faith. There we shone
With alarming haloes, standing inside the crèche

And trembling before the baby whose large brown eyes
Accused our ignorance by what he understood.
We saw and marvelled how fingers of this toy-size
Could bless all children with crosses of brotherhood.

Our lilting Ford escaped the city of signs
And fearful joys, and swung him with us home
To Nazareth. But always, always shines
In our known street and house that Bethlehem.

Of course this story, our story, is travesty
And passers-by may joke in fun or guile.
But when we look at them, the authentic three,
They are not laughing, not frowning; we see them
         smile.




--Ernest Sandeen (1909-1997), poet and professor at the University of Notre Dame, from Poetry magazine, February 1955

Friday, June 23, 2023

The Pool



Are you alive?
I touch you.
You quiver like a sea-fish.
I cover you with my net.
What are you—banded one?


-- H. D. (Hilda Doolittle) (1886-1961), American poet, novelist, essayist, and translator.; LGBTQ pioneer. This poem was written while she was expecting her first child with husband Richard Aldington.

Miscarriage




When I was a month pregnant, the great
clots of blood appeared in the pale
green swaying water of the toilet,
Dark red like black in the salty
translucent brine, like forms of life
appearing, jelly-fish with the clear-cut
shapes of things.

That was the only appearance made by that
child, the dark, scalloped shapes
falling slowly. A month later
our son was conceived, and I never went back
to mourn the one who came as far as the
sill with its information: that we could
botch something, you and I. All wrapped in
purple it floated away, like a messenger
put to death for bearing bad news.


--Sharon Olds (1942- ), American poet and professor at NYU, winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the T. S. Eliot prize, from The Dead and the Living (1984). 

Thursday, June 22, 2023

To Our Miscarried One, Age Thirty Now




Though I never saw you, only your clouds,
I was afraid of you, of how you differed
from what we had wanted you to be. And it's as if
you waited, then, where such waiting is done,
for when I would look beside me--and here
you are, in the world of forms, where my wifehood
is now, and every action with him,
as if a thousand years from now
you and I are in some antechamber
where the difference between us is of little matter,
you with perhaps not much of a head yet,
dear garden one, you among the shovels
and spades and wafts of beekeeper's shroud
and sky-blue kidskin gloves.
That he left me is not much, compared
to your leaving the earth--you shifting places
on it, and shifting shapes--you threw off your
working clothes of arms and legs,
and moved house, from uterus
to toilet bowl and jointed stem
and sewer out to float the rivers and
bays in painless pieces. And yet
the idea of you has come back to where
I could see you today as a small, impromptu
god of the partial. When I leave for good,
would you hold me in your blue mitt
for the departure hence. I never thought
to see you again, I never thought to seek you.

-- Sharon Olds (1942- ), American poet and professor at NYU, winner of the Pulitzer and T. S. Eliot prize for this volume, Stag's Leap, 2012.

To Our Miscarried One, Age Fifty Now



Every twenty years, I turn 
and address you, not knowing who you were 
or what you were. You had been three months
in utero, when our friend came to visit
with her virus which I caught and you died—or it may be
your inviableness had been conceived with you—
you might have been, all along, going to
last fourteen weeks, though I had felt,
as we lay on the living-room floor, the couch
pushed in front of the door at the pure gold
hour at the core of your big sister’s
nap, that you had taken deep.
I kept my feet up on the couch an hour—there was a
recipe, for a boy, then:
abstain until the egg emerges, then
send the long-tailed whippersnapper, the
boy-making sperm, in, to get there
before the girls, who are slow but if they
get there early can wait. The boy
we conceived a month after you died
made, years later,
an ink X
on a cushion of that sofa, as if to declare
war on sisters and mothers, the oppressors
of the male. Hello, male, or female,
or both, or neither. Hi mystery,
hi matter, hi spirit moving through matter.
Twenty years ago, when your father
left me, I wanted to hold hands with you,
my friend in death, the dead one
I knew best—and not at all—
who had deserted this life or been driven from it,
I your garden, oasis, desert.
And I’d never laid down a stone for you,
you seemed like a byway on the path from your sister
to your brother. What was half-formed
in you, what was partial—how close I could have
felt to you if I had known what a hidden
story I still was to myself. Dear one,
I feel as if now you are my elder, having died—
though without having breathed—so much earlier than I.
By the time I saw you, you were in the water
already, the sacred toilet-water green
of your grave. Let me call you kin, lost one,
let me call you landsman.



-- Sharon Olds (1942- ), American poet and professor at NYU, winner of the Pulitzer Prize, from The Sewanee Review, Fall 2018.