First Things RSS Feed - Amit Majmudar
en-usCopyright 2016 First Things. All Rights Reserved.email@example.com (The Editors)firstname.lastname@example.org (The Editors)Sat, 22 Oct 2016 23:12:59 -0400https://d25wp47b6tla3u.cloudfront.net/img/favicon-196.pngFirst Things RSS Feed Image
Sun, 01 Jun 2014 00:00:00 -0400 On your thirtieth birthday, you find that your clothes
Belong to someone slimmer.
It’s like only your socks haven’t shrunk in the wash.
From then on, you remember
Undressing in front of a lover or mirror
To reach for the dimmer.
Apres moi, le Delugehttps://www.firstthings.com/article/2014/02/apres-moi-le-deluge
Sat, 01 Feb 2014 00:00:00 -0500You needn’t be born a Bourbon
To dream your funereal deluge,
Some climactic climatic disturbance
To rain out the end of your reign.
A desultory drizzle of tears
Is the most that most of us get,
But scarcely the torrent we merit.
We’d prefer a proportionate downpour
But will settle for rills swelling
And basements portentously flooded
Though even some frustrated faucets
Would do, a drop in the pressure,
Ice in the pipes of the world.
Tue, 01 Oct 2013 00:00:00 -0400 It would seem, from the sound of it, slang
?In Her Majestys Navy, say, circa
?Trafalgar”the deckhand whose job was
?To heave-ho the anchor aboard,
?The chain like a slain sea serpent?
Collecting in coils behind him.
Or maybe a meteor fragment,
?Some glittery space-coal without
?Any real industrial uses”
?In the rock-box next to the quartzes
?At a science museum gift shop.
You would never imagine it wanted
?To sail in the other direction,
?A rare earth dreaming of heaven
?And pulling its rosary beads
?Like the links in a chain that leads
?To the sea floor, and the iron that anchors it.
]]>The Children’s Crusade of 1212https://www.firstthings.com/article/2011/12/the-childrens-crusade-of
Thu, 01 Dec 2011 00:00:00 -0500 Aching for Acre, in a sacred ague,
Theyre setting out. They wear only their nightgowns,
These ageless androgynes, these little angels
Who raise their wooden swords and hymns of glass.
Theyre saying how the journey there will be
A stroll between aquariums reviewing
Divisions of moray and scorpionfish,
The laughing seahorse cavalries of heaven,
Jerusalem like candy on a shelf
A child on a child on a child
(All three on tiptoe) might just reach, and God
Himself the next shelf up. Their smallest soldier
Shoulder by shoulder climbs the swaying tower
And gets his hands around a jar of ashes.
Wed, 01 Jun 2011 00:00:00 -0400 After I had burned alive a spell, spellbound
by the burning that bound me, I saw
an Ice Cross rising down to me through sea-
blue sky. This Ice Cross was the eyes cross,
submerged for years in the eyes
aqueous humor, an iceberg crux cracked off the Pole
Star and splashed deep”all this time to the surface surging.
The burning melted off my skin like rime,
and the Crosss seed-crystal ferned forth
like wiper fluid flash-freezing on a windshield.
Christ-frost plated the daylight,
a fast-branching, brittle fractal
sealing the spaces inside itself. At last
I could see the pane that separated me
from the one beyond me”a tiptoeing
child left out in the cold, eyes cupped
and trying to see in, his breath fogging the glass.
Mon, 01 Feb 2010 00:00:00 -0500 Lord, late though I am, slide the lathe
And shape, shave me. Shear me wraith-
Slim, slave-thin; flay the skin in moth-
Wings off my soul’s loathed sheath. Wrath-
Ripe as I am, pluck me, pulp me. Filth
That I am, bathe me. Faith,
Be water; Father, help me drown.
I cannot breathe until you force me down.
Sun, 01 Nov 2009 00:00:00 -0400 Heavy water, holy water, we are weighed on
By your waterweight, you proton-
Poisoned fission vintage we dare not sip.
A drip weighs torrents on the tongue and lip.
Tritium, trinity water, three-in-one Gods
Sweat condensed on a fuel rods throb,
Heavy as falling heavens, you weigh kilotons,
You weigh the source sin rinsed into the font:
Biting the apple, splitting the forbidden atom
One crime committed in common with Adam.
Contamination, come and enter,
Spill in us and make us epicenter;
The taste of knowledge is the aftertaste of loss.
This sorrow bent the knees beneath the cross.
]]>The Return of the Golden Agehttps://www.firstthings.com/article/2009/08/the-return-of-the-golden-age
Sat, 01 Aug 2009 00:00:00 -0400 Apache rotors, envying windmills no more,
Thresh the air wheat-gold. On lonely state routes
We can witness them whisper the harvest.
They idle gently, no intention to ascend.
A fine, dry chaff gilds the passing windshield.
Where are the wars that whet these blades? Far off,
Far off and not involving us, at last
Happily powerless and eating well,
The machines that enslaved clouds and tides
Stripped down to serve our long abandoned land
And the boys who left these bright, genuine fields
For fools gold deserts home now, wizened men,
Poor as the wise are poor, flush with enough.
Thu, 01 Jan 2009 00:00:00 -0500 The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy
.”The Book of Isaiah