PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

  First . . . I apologize to:   First . . . I apologize to the Poet for failing to comment on this poem in a timely way.  I have been hospitalized without internet access; I am now at a rehab place which has connectivity. I have often remarked that certain poems from this Poet are centerpieces of her complete collection.  I have also often mentioned, following Helen Vendler's readings of Wallace Stevens' poetry, how this Poet, like Pop Stevens, often locates the purpose or soul of her poem in the middle or at the end of the text.  (Many amateurs begin, always, with the purpose.) The centerpiece of this centerpiece is its last two lines.  Thousands of novels and short stories have been written in science fiction asking "What if . . ." but this poem asks a spiritual "What if."  Her poem, in a very subtle and unobstrusive way, testifies to the promises of Jesus Himself that all shall be made well eventually.  And if all shall be made well, all is well for us now.  We need not worry.  The two outerspace telescopes we have launched---the Webb and the Hubble---show us the cosmos going about its business as the Supreme StarMaker intended it to do.  All is well there.  Two thousand years ago, at least two or more starwatchers traveled through the chaos and turmoil of the Roman frontier in their search for a newborn King, having seen His Star rise ahead of the sun ("in the East") because they had preserved Balaam;s prophecy among them (according to Romanus the Melodist).  They knew that all was well, despite the distractions of Roman politics.  And, in this present day, we must learn to remember that all is well, despite our own distractions (like the damned fool who is running again for our land's highest office).  We must remember that the Supreme StarMaker has not, for one moment, removed us from His great Plan of existence.  This life is a preparation for us to enter the StarMaker's presence---to me, that means all is well now.  My health is failing---chronic heart failure and an unquenchable thirst that aggravates my retention of water, which makes the heart failure worse, and a transverse myalitis has robbed me of most of the ability to walk.  Yet, all is well---as this poem reminds me to remember.  Even the continuing degradation of my body's functions means my soul is nearing its release into the starry cosmos and the StarMaker's presence:  and, in this case, how, possibly, could all not be well? This is a poem to cherish; a poem to assuage the thirst of the dried-out soul; and a poem that should stand as a splendid example to other poets.