THIS SIDE OF THE CLOISTER
This is not a background picturesque;
(flats and sets) for cloister garth in
novel or in play:
suggestion of the medieval in the
costume; frustration in the spirit;
“sad and serene” in a half-resisted,
half-desired hideaway.
Curl
of a copper-foil moon
On
a Christmas tree; no stars. The starched
white frame
Of
wimple and of veil a cyclotron
Where
ash-gray, jewel wings cavort in candle flame
Warm,
stammering light.
The
nuns walk in processional
Between
the hydrangea blossoms cowled in heat,
Crisp
holly and smooth-leaved rhododendron shrubs.
Twigs
and broken brush snap like puppies at the slow-paced feet;
Wax
melts to candle wyvern [1] and to
gargoyle.
The
nuns pray, “Hail Mary ... Holy Mary ...”
And
the valley prays; the tennis court; the parking lot;
Terrace
and lawn and road; the sweet gum prays;
The
hawthorn; Spanish oak; yew and maple trees; the knot
Of
new-born mockingbirds nestling in the lime; a family of owls,
The
squirrels, the kitten and the dog. “Hail
Mary full of grace ... Holy Mary ...”
This is nothing like the neat enclosure
(sets and flats) of Spanish “Cradle
Song,” or – French and quaint –
the nuns of “Cyrano de Bergerac.” These are not nuns of time or place,
but God.
Queen
and Lady, though nuns and night and prayer
Are
mummers at your throne, it is you who walk with them,
It
is you who carry light – a quiet semaphore to God;
It
is your country lane they walk; your Bethlehem;
Your
Nazareth; Gethsemane; and Ephesus.
Lady,
it is your silence
In
which they walk back to the cloister, to stifling cell
-
and hot and heavy muslin of the bed.
Lady,
it is your joy
That
rocks the campus like a cradle
through
the summer night, so that the Little Boy
(still
in exile) does not weep,
but
laughs in His Father’s providence, and falls
(as
Péguy [2] says men
should) content to sleep.
Sister Maura SSND
Spirit.
1953-54
[1] monstrous image
[2] Charles Péguy (1873-1914), Catholic
writer, publisher and poet. His works
include a collection of poems in praise of the Blessed Virgin.
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