Antilogy

Moments of joy
and terror
are not balanced
with the precision
of a “blind watchmaker”
Where there is
no chance
of error

Nor can these be
blamed on a
reckless
“devil’s chaplain”
innocent of intent
Who just asks
that we trust him

Theory can’t
unweave
the poetry of rainbows
Yet believes it shuttles
the weft and warp
Starts pulling at and
rearranging its own
tapestry

Its sparkling strings
trick and trap
but unravel
when fitter words appear
We follow their
endless strands
around our heart
protecting our soul

Concept cannot
ascertain
why life is short
Can’t explain
how for some
their bliss is
unthreaded
too early
For others pain
knotted too long

Its dogma proclaims
love is chemical
love is practical
A function
whose time itself
is passing
merely
into electrical
simulacra

It is not self-evident
that our mind
is a “meme machine”
There is also
the reason of faith
A humbler story
of the meek and
mysterious
evolution of spirit

 

Michelangelo's_Pieta_5450_cropncleaned_edit

Photos from Wikipedia; Michelangelo’s Pietà by Stanislav Traykov

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14 thoughts on “Antilogy

  1. This poem reminds me so much of my dad and the theological/philosophical conversations we used to have in his cramped office at the head of the stairs in the rectory, late at night when the rest of the family was asleep. How I would love to be able to share your poem with him and discuss all of its nuances and contradictions.

  2. Mary Jo, a very deep, philosophical poem that warrants reading and rereading (I did the latter 🙂 ). Also, just the right amount of occasional alliteration in the rich language.

    • I appreciate your comments, Dave! I always attempt subtlety with alliteration and metaphor, especially when there’s so little imagery, for me at least, with philosophical poems. Admittedly I do tend to hammer metaphor and alliteration fairly hard.

  3. Ah Mary Jo, I will keep in my memory this definition: “the poetry of rainbows” for we seek the beauty of colour, the energy of possibilities and the mystery of beginnings and endings. My friend in high school was a weaver, the son of a well-known weaver from Northern Manitoba. When I visited his studio, I would hear the hypnotic sound of the shuttle move back and forth, back and forth and watch the pattern unfold in unhurried measure. As it is with life. “We follow their endless strands around our heart protecting our soul.” You reminded me of the Norns who spin the threads of fate at the foot of Yggdrasil, the tree of the world. I LOVED this poem. Thank you!!

    • I’m so delighted you enjoyed this, Rebecca! The possibility of unweaving the rainbow belongs to Keats and his poem Lamia as a criticism of Newton, whom Richard Dawkins defends. For years Dawkins book on this theme has argued in my mind, but Keats and poetry settled the dispute 🙂

      I almost bought a loom as a young mother and regret not having one to this day. The Tree of the World…what a richness you’ve added to my little metaphor. Thank you too, and From Lamia

      Do not all charms fly
      At the mere touch of cold philosophy?
      There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
      We know her woof, her texture; she is given
      In the dull catalogue of common things.
      Philosophy will clip an Angel’s wings,
      Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
      Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine—
      Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
      The tender-person’d Lamia melt into a shade.

  4. I love this and I love the thought of the poetry of rainbows. Baby birds kept chirping outside while I read your poem, which seemed fitting because your words make me want to embrace nature and all of the beautiful mysteries.

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