Like Taxes: Marching Through Gaul (PDF)
- Lastschrift, Kreditkarte, Paypal, Rechnung
- Kostenloser tolino webreader
"Like Taxes, by David Craig, is an impressive book. In an age dominated by the secular and characterized by the pretentious and trivial, we are fortunate to have a book so rooted in authentic experience, and serious concern. Craig is eager for the fullness of the religious experience, but he does not let himself be deceived by the superficially religious. He is a subtle enough theologian to know that God hides in strange places, and reveals Himself as He wills, not as mortals might imagine. The best way to encounter Him is to get on with your life- driving a cab, talking with friends, eating supper-and staying as alert as the hunter is for the deer. These are the hunter's poems."-Howard McCord
(for Jack)
In sunny Central Park
I see Him,
a Child flying a Japanese kite,
the kite itself. Pot-bellied,
He plays a hot corner.
He waves beneath His chin,
jogs uphill with the horde and I feel
all the grass growing inside me.
Great grey buildings
become mice. Blind, they crawl, new-born,
squeaking. Paintings along the sidewalk
learn French, drink coffee.
A Julliard student plays viola
to my violin:
the careful crunch of cheesecake,
Village cafe. And later,
all the small people inside me bop,
the Flintstone theme on sax, Washington Park.
I see Him, with brush and can,
face streaked,
as billowing orange letters,
noisy cars, zip past.
Young Monk (Denver)
Wine, water,
like the red patch, yellow body of a peach
in a bowl, sit
behind layers of fine lacquer,
two millenia of pews
in the bowels of the dark Catholic
Church.
And on the cross up front,
on the wall behind the gold,
the altar, I feel the body, the wound,
in new water, draw,
feel the corresponding motion
without noise.
Mass and, after, outside,
capped clothespins hold the flapping
bedsheet canvass, day: yellow sun head
tucked in a coat of trailing,
above-the-trees, wrap-around blue.
Garrulous birds and the sweet
smell of pine needle.
A calling. Fine as my stride,
elevated as the caps of waves,
spray and shingle, celibate air.
This life for Life
and a walk through the trees.
...the praise which is
a thousand mosquitoes, their silver droppings
to the river, the ripples,
is assembly lines on the banks under trees,
the clanking, seeds twirling down,
small dimes shining in the mud, or the
faces of thin, French nuns in procession,
fortune tellers with the Infant of Prague
in store front windows,
it is the clear apprehension
of a rotten, flagging fencepost,
which binds the sky on measured knots, small wrists.
Wrens gambol in the woodbine,
in the mouthings of syllables which, just now,
it seemed, we had spoken as if with our own mouths,
are honey, down through the tall trees,
lolling on the flowers, or Roman
boots marching through Gaul, a beachball
in the sand.
- Autor: David Craig
- 1990, 1. Auflage, 112 Seiten, Englisch
- Verlag: Digitalia
- ISBN-10: 0916379655
- ISBN-13: 9780916379650
- Erscheinungsdatum: 01.01.1990
Abhängig von Bildschirmgröße und eingestellter Schriftgröße kann die Seitenzahl auf Ihrem Lesegerät variieren.
- Dateiformat: PDF
- Größe: 1.73 MB
- Mit Kopierschutz
- Vorlesefunktion
eBooks und Audiobooks (Hörbuch-Downloads) mit der Familie teilen und gemeinsam genießen. Mehr Infos hier.
Schreiben Sie einen Kommentar zu "Like Taxes: Marching Through Gaul".
Kommentar verfassen