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Evensong (Free verse) by Nicholas Jones
Last winter I watched the sun rise Then set Each day for a month. Woke and slept Into the darkness. Snow fell On the twenty fifth night, We walked distractedly Around the town Seeking meanings on pavements, Windowpanes and roadsigns. I found little Except ice Yellow lines And parking spaces Then the church enticed me; I dreamed of vestments Attended services Holy Communion, Evensong, Saw vicars and curates, Parishioners and believers. I remember little of it now, Except the loneliness of the prayers And the cold coloured light Through mediaeval stained glass: We sat at the back And tried not connect, Soon we learned that Resistance is hard But not always right. Often, fire came from the pulpit, The reverend was angrily determined To proclaim the resurrection And submission to absolute love. I prayed for understanding, But got disjointed words Hidden by masonry, Amplified by empty pews. The wine did not taste of blood Nor the bread of flesh, And the hymns Were disappointingly insipid. Slowly, my personal liturgy Took over. Praise the Lord Because he could have made Our anguish worse; Venerate his name Because we can believe In nothing else. Praise the Son We suffer from Manageable pain Venerate his name And his rebirth Believe in this Or nothing else. Praise the Spirit Because our lives Are not always hell Venerate the Trinity: You have no alternative To my truth and my way.

Up the ladder: Daddy
Down the ladder: The City (New Jerusaem)

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Arithmetic Mean: 6.2
Weighted score: 5.1430435
Overall Rank: 5348
Posted: September 3, 2002 7:05 AM PDT; Last modified: September 3, 2002 7:05 AM PDT
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Comments:
[7] Christof @ 195.172.133.226 | 3-Sep-02/7:12 AM | Reply
I don't agree with your conclusion. Of course we have an alternative - we don't have to belive in god or the Trinity if it seems untrue. But I believe it is true to you and your poem makes this clear. Some of it sounds like cut-up prose ('And the hymns/were disappointingly insipid.' - I don't catch any rhythm there) but the opening is very atmospheric - probably the best bit of the poem. This is a very interesting poem, plenty to think about.
[9] <~> @ 167.206.181.179 | 3-Sep-02/8:50 AM | Reply
so disappointing, to want to find more, and see only the architecture of men. i could never find god in a church, except, one time, at yorkminster abbey, when i heard the choir rehearsing, and felt the breath of something MORE than me...but then it was gone... ah, i may have to write about that. thank you.
[n/a] Nicholas Jones @ | 6-Sep-02/2:08 AM | Reply
[n/a] Nicholas Jones @ | 6-Sep-02/2:26 AM | Reply
The poem isn't about me in any direct sense, but it's about the struggle to overcome doubts and accept faith. You don't have to believe, but if the alternative is nothing then it seems a good idea to try.
[n/a] ==Doylum @ 213.122.144.213 | 6-Sep-02/2:52 AM | Reply
i preffer to belive in a land of milk and honey, where one can purchase a sheep on a stick for the verse from a well known popidle. Alas i have seen the future and it does not include vannessa, nor or a wooly headed beast. Why must you torrment my mind with visions of blackness. Handshandy you are a shit. Leave us to our wonderful visions
[7] Christof @ 195.172.133.226 | 6-Sep-02/2:39 AM | Reply
I prefer nothingness to belief in a myth. Or rather, I believe in humanity and the universe rather than an external god. But this poem is good because it raises this debate; it is individual and provocative.
[7] Christof @ 195.172.133.226 | 6-Sep-02/3:20 AM | Reply
Black black it's all black.
[n/a] ==Doylum @ 213.122.144.213 | 6-Sep-02/3:30 AM | Reply
Be careful what you say young man or you may end up in a slough of despondency.
[10] Bachus @ 24.126.113.154 | 15-Jan-03/11:54 PM | Reply
fuck that was wild! woahhhh! <as fake plastic trees comes on> Nick, how old were you when you felt your first pulling towards the inevitable depravity of the written word? how old are you now? what's your sign, and how is your relationship with your parents?
[n/a] Nicholas Jones @ 137.44.1.200 > Bachus | 16-Jan-03/6:50 AM | Reply
Actually, I really don't like Radiohead. Everybody went on about how experimental Kid A was, but they nicked it all from Squarepusher and Add N To (X). Ripping off the avant-garde is not being progressive. Anyway, I'm not sure if your comments are taking the piss or not, but here are some facts: 1) The person in this poem is not me 2) I am a regular churchgoer 3) I am in the 23rd year of my life 4) I talked to my parents on the telephone last night. I think you live in your own tiny little world, but it sounds more fun and less depressing than mine.
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