Bumbling, ungainly, sag-chinned, laughable: on land, the pelicans concede their natures. Hugging the sand, one tries to hide his features, long neck scrunched into shoulders, abashed bill well down. Airborne, they’re different: choreographed. Baroque danseurs, their slow-beat wing pavane impends . . . . Continue Reading »
Your Dad is bad, your Mum is mad,Your brothers all run wild,And you were born with feet of horn,For you are Satan’s child. The fairies stole your soul at birthAnd stashed it God-knows-where.You are the wretched of the earth,Past pity and past care. The fairies stole away your soulAnd smashed it on . . . . Continue Reading »
John Glenn Smith’s last day at home was hot, cicadas scratching out their shrilling rhythm from the deeper woods behind the house. Everywhere he went, the sound was with him. That morning he went out to pick the garden in overalls and long-sleeved checkered shirt, a hat to shade his head, his . . . . Continue Reading »
The Anglican pastor and poet George Herbert died of tuberculosis on March 1, 1633, just one month shy of his fortieth birthday. Like his famous contemporary and friend John Donne and his nineteenth-century American echo Emily Dickinson, Herbert did not publish his poems during his lifetime. From . . . . Continue Reading »
Jesus was a healernever turned a patient downnever charged coin or conversionstarted off with dust and spittlethen re-tuned lives to patternsimply by his attentionoften surprised himself a littleby his unbounded abilityJesus was a healerreattached his captor’s earopened senses, unjammed . . . . Continue Reading »
The books of 2014, like the books of any year, utterly exceed our grasp. In one aspect, they suggest (they mimic, we could say) the divinely gratuitous excess of Creation; seen from another angle, their multiplicity reflects our fallenness, our propensity to error, our confusion. We need to hold . . . . Continue Reading »
You, my friend, who died in battle, can’t remember How your breath became a rattle, then, more slender, Changed to prayer. What syllables were left to say, What could be brought to . . . . Continue Reading »
Make sure you give yourself a chance to grieve, A parent handout helpfully suggests. My last one’s gone; I thought she’d never leave. Children at this stage in life are guests who have outstayed their welcome. Why deceive myself, pretend I’m sad when empty nests are full of . . . . Continue Reading »
When data started to accumulate, we didn’t think the end would be so tragic. Facts were such fun, we could eliminate non-facts. And so we threw away the magic, the charms, the spells, the powers that removed all obstacles, the sacred images that won our wars, brought lover to beloved. Then we . . . . Continue Reading »
Men and women should be gentler with one another; what was it my godmother used to say? Painfully tender. Men and women should arrive and depart together and without flourish or flattery—just some small banter. These aren’t the gentlefolk you might remember hearing of I’m describing; . . . . Continue Reading »
Subscribe
Latest Issue
Support First Things
