THE OXYHYNCHOS HYMN

Translation and Variations
 

Discovered in 1918 near Oxyrhynchos, Egypt, the musically notated Oxyrhynchos Hymn is the oldest know fragment of a Christian hymn (3rd Century). Because fragmentary, scholars differ in opinion, some guessing the hymn refers to worldly interference in sacred matters, others that the text recalls ancient Greek cosmic stillness. The variations below consider each opinion.

                           1

Sing the silence of the stars,
Let all the waters offer praise,
Hear the song of winds afar
Come surging loud across the plains.
     Let stars and planets, birds and men
     Sing “Amen. Amen. Amen.”

Hymn the Father and the Son
And all the Holy Spirit brings.
Praise the Lord, the Three in One,
Creator God of all good things.
     Let stars and planets, birds and men
     Sing “Amen. Amen. Amen.”

Sing! You holy Seraphim,
And all the Angels of the sky,
Praise, adore, and worship Him
Our Father God who reigns on high.
     Let stars and planets, birds and men
     Sing “Amen. Amen. Amen.”
                

Kings and empires meekly bow
Before the power of the Lord.
Sing His glory, let Him know
We praise our God in one accord.
     Let stars and planets, birds and men
     Sing “Amen. Amen. Amen.”

              for choir, flute or organ, depending

                2    

Let night and day be silent.
In quiet let us honor Him.
Let stars be still and pliant.
Let all creation worship Him.
    Alleluia. Sing, “Amen.”
 

The breezes all are resting
Before the glory of the Lord.
The birds are hushed in nesting.
The voiceless seas our God adore.
    Alleluia. Sing, “Amen.”
 

Our Father, Son, and Spirit
The blessed angels praise. Attend.
At prayer your soul will hear it
When heaven hymns, “Amen. Amen.”
   Alleluia. Sing, “Amen.”

            for bells and lute or kithara

Here below, the English prose translation of the poem’s five fragmentary lines.
… together all the eminent ones of God …
… night] nor day (?) Let it/them be silent. Let the luminous stars not […],
… [Let the rushings of winds, the sources] of all surging rivers [cease]. While we hymn
Father and Son and Holy Spirit, let all the powers answer, "Amen, amen, Strength, praise,
[and glory forever to God], the sole giver of all good things. Amen, amen."

       Return to Poems Menu

                                     ____________

             from BLACK ̶ EYED SUSAN: VERSES FOR CHILDREN

DEVOTIONAL

Lucy spends her day in waiting.
    Like a maiden in a tower
she will lie and gaze at me
    hour after hour.

       Return to Poems Menu

                                     ____________

From Confession

From the preface to Confession: Lives of the saints, the sacraments, the way of Christ; God the Father, His creation, the universe, man, that creature part beast, part spirit, in soul divine, in action a sinner, redeemed by love. Here for your consideration, our confession.

COVENANTAL

If too the soul is bodied and divine,
Is it not true that wedded we are chaste
When in the full and deepest cups of wine
We drink ourselves into a healthy waste.
For sure, the love that sparks the life
Abides within the flesh’ed soul that sings
A purest being through the man and wife
Whose bodies are encompassed in a ring.
In love the two are chastened into one,
As tin and brass when liquified in flame
Together pour themselves in hollowed stone
To cast themselves into another name.
Then truly, we are chaste when ringed and wedded
As too the soul is pure in love when bedded.

CHRIST'S LITTLE LAMB  

The little lamb is white and pure,
Her fleece is soft and giving,
She loves the good, and it is sure
In her the God is living.
The men about the town have eyes
To gape and to gawk her,
The men about the town have lies
To sway and to shock her.
The little lamb does hear their words,
And yet she turns away,
The little lamb does feel the burns
That pierce her when she plays.
As you would guess, though she was pure
The pagan men would have her.
As you would guess, and this is sure,
Christ in His wrath avenged her.

Saint Agnes, patron saint of girls, virgins, chastity, and victims of rape. Convicted of being Christian, the 12-year-old Agnes was given to the whore Aphrodisia for training and slavery. Steadfastly unwilling, miraculously preserved, Agnes was martyred. Feast day: 21 January, both Orthodox and Catholic.

SONS OF NAZARETH

If you are the father, what do you say
Of a daughter with child while unmarried.
If you are the father, and too a saint,
You’ll ignore what they say of the carried.
Ignore them or not the ladies will clack,
For women grow wet in their rumors,
And women will scratch the wound on your back
Because scratching will tickle their humors.
Though sturdy and firm in the way of men,
And devout in the manner of Jewry,
Joachim would have felt the peck of the hens
Of the flock ruffled up in their fury.
Though conceived by the Spirit of God and Master,
Hard is the way of the Son and bastard.

Saint Joachim, husband of Saint Anne, father of Mary the virgin mother of Jesus, patron of fathers, grandfathers, and married couples. Legend tells that Mary too was miraculously conceived. Feast day: 9 September, Orthodox; 26 July (which he shares with Saint Anne), Catholic.

ROMAN PLAGUE

At first the portent of serpents. And dragons
Were seen in lakes and rivers swirling, boiling
As in the groin where buboes like passions
Exploded. But then, you’ve seen the spoiled clothing,
The faithful and the pagan coughing, falling
And none to pick them up. Best not to touch.
Angita and her snakes, despite the hissing,
Did nothing much. We offered. Just more pus.
Way high up there upon the Greekling’s tomb
The Christian angel Michael was seen sheathing
His bloody sword yet hot from Satan’s wound.
And I was there to hear the angels singing
For intercession the Regina Caeli
As we processed behind Luke’s gold Romani.

Saint Michael the Archangel, guardian of the Church, patron of soldiers, his statue appears in commemoration atop Castel Sant’Angelo. Feast Day: 21 November, Orthodox; 29 September, Catholic.
Saint Luke the Evangelist, artist, author, companion of Saint Paul, patron of artists and physicians, he is known to have painted the Virgin Mary’s portrait. Feast Day: 18 October, both Orthodox and Catholic.

CONSTANTINE'S NEW JERUSALEM

We all will tingle when tickled by lust,
The pinches of nipples, strokes to the cock,
The quakes of the flesh, the soul cracked by shock,
And other violences Venus will give us.
Greeks knew to fear her and Christians distrust
The paint of the whore, her ass when it walks,
Her teeth in the nibble, tongue in its talk,
The lies of the lips of her face and puss.
The world built her temple upon the True Cross,
Bedded itself in the bowels of sinning,
And wetted itself in wait of a tonguing…
‘Tis time now to sober. Satan has lost.
So, rail pagan. Rail! Helena deposed her.
The Sepulcher stands upon her and over.

Saint Helena, Empress, Mother of Saint Constantine the Great. Humble protector of the poor, discoverer of the True Cross upon whose site stands The Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Helena’s porphyry sarcophagus is sheltered in the Vatican Museum. Feast Day: 21 May, Orthodox; 18 August, Catholic.

     Return to Poems Menu

                    ____________

SALVATION

I ask you, “Who would live to die a saint?” 
   To scorch the feet on desert sands;
   To strike the thigh with leather bands;
To starve; to knell in prayer until one faints:
Oh no, I would not want to be a saint.
   Neither would I be a martyr,
   Boiled in oil, or fried in sulfur,
Or fed to toothy beasts without complaint.
What then? Vivisection? My toe in Rome,
   My ear in Bath, my tongue in Paris,
   My collarbone the source of bliss
To pilgrims on a pilgrimage? No. Home
Is the place for me. The reliquary
Is for saints: Sinners may write poetry.

CONFESSION

Not mine alone, the soul I carry:
   Mine alone the sin and pain.
I harmed myself: Lord, I am sorry.
   Please forgive the soul I stain.
I am a man of will and weakness,
   Subject to the wants of flesh.
I failed You: Lord, I must confess
   Selfish acts that cause offense.
I shall by merit prove my sadness,
   Ask to be absolved in You.
Grant me grace: Lord, I seek forgiveness,
   Please make my soul pure and new.
For I in song do praise Your glory,
For You have given Love to me.

MATRIMONY

We two before the world are wedded,
   Single in the sight of God.
We two are natured like the wooded
   Branches of a single rod.
Together we will leaf and flower.
   We together bare the fruit.
Together we complete God’s nature.
   We together seed the roots.
We come to God to seek our crowning,
   Earn His love, and serve His plan.
We come to God to bless the wedding
   Of this woman and this man.
We vow before the earth and heaven
To serve our God in Love. Amen.

SAINT THERESA* OF THE CHILD JESUS

The little sparrow gives away her song
Without the slightest notion of its cost.
She chirps in sweetness all the morning long
And dies a little with each note that’s lost.
You cannot see her hidden in the leaves.
She is so tiny folded in the shade,
And yet her voice is larger than the tree
And soars as though it never was afraid.
Even the sweetest songs are sometimes sad,
As though a thorn is pricking through the heart.
But even in her death the bird is glad,
Ready to meet her God when she departs.
For, from the kindest moment of her birth
She spent her heaven doing good on earth.

*Roman Catholic, October 3; Patroness of Missionaries,
  Florists, and Gardeners

JUSTIFICATION

Please, do not blame these simple lines
For honest faults and plain design.
The weakness is not theirs, but mine.
The lines were born in hopefulness,
With joy in bright-eyed eagerness
To live, to grow in holiness.
All things that live want to be loved,
To feel You smile down from above,
To be well-liked, well spoken of.
Blame the corruption of the times,
Or blame my jingles and forced chimes,
But do not blame these honest rimes.
Each sound, each phrase, each stress, each word
Is ambitious of your grace, my Lord.

TO REST IN YOU

A fawn is frightened in her bed,
   A sparrow chills in winter’s night;
In life we suffer, in life we dread:
   Your love is full, Your touch is light,
We trust in You to do the right.
   Each life will turn throughout its course
From bad to worse, then good again,
   Each hopes the good the stronger force:
We each will suffer through the pain
   In faith our trust is not in vain.
In all the world of want and need
   I give myself to trust in You;
I cannot know, therefore I plead,
   “Please give me what is best and true.”
    I Trust, and I shall Rest in You.

Return to Poems Menu

          ____________

Verses selected from Confession,
Volume IV of “Colloquies: A Review
of Civilization in Little Songs”.

SALVATION

I ask you, “Who would live to die a saint?”

   To scorch the feet on desert sands;

   To strike the thigh with leather bands;

To starve; to kneel in prayer until one faints:

Oh no, I would not want to be a saint.

   Neither would I be a martyr,

   Boiled in oil, or fried in sulfur,

Or fed to toothy beasts without complaint.

What then? Vivisection? My toe in Rome,

   My ear in Bath, my tongue in Paris,

   My collarbone the source of bliss

To pilgrims on a pilgrimage? No. Home

Is the place for me. The reliquary

Is for saints:  Sinners may write poetry.

MATRIMONY

We two before the world are wedded,

  Single in the sight of God.

We two are natured like the wooded

  Branches of a single rod.

Together we will leaf and flower.

  We together bear the fruit.

Together we complete God’s nature.

  We together seed the roots.

We come to God to seek our crowning,

  Earn His love and serve His plan.

We come to God to bless the wedding

  Of this woman and this man.

We vow before the earth and heaven

To serve our God in love. Amen.

TRIVIUM 
 

Grammar whose shackles give language its shape

Makes structures that no wayward word can escape

That thoughts well arranged on the sky of a page

Like birds in formation may fly away.

Logic will tell of a bird and its wings,

The course of its flight, how it lands, why it sings:

Deduction allows ideas to fly

Gracefully, sensibly into the mind.

Rhetoric colors the letters of birds,

Remaking a chick to a duck in a word:

Persuasion will prove that a chicken who clucked

Was truly the quack of your friend, the duck.

No term will be empty, no sentence go blank

If well-feathered words fly straight in a phalanx.

WHOLLY INNOCENT

The worm is turning, twisting, winding

   Around the skull who hatched a plan.

The flea is hopping, tick is crawling:

   Who’s the fool, who’s the wise man?

The fowle feathers in her heaven.

   The fish is fining in his flood.

The swine is swilling in her penen.

   What do you, my bone and blood?

The rusty plow won’t seed or feed you.

   The sword is useless in its sheathe.

The book, the hymn, the bead can’t save you

   Flesh and bone that will not breathe.

Then come: Hang your skin upon the nail,

Go to God, if good; if bad, go to Hell.

REST

A fawn is frightened in her bed,

    A sparrow chills in winter’s night;

In life we suffer, in life we dread:

   Your love is full, Your touch is light,

   We trust in You to do the right.

Each life will turn throughout its course

   From bad to worse, then good again,

Each hopes the good the stronger force:

   We each will suffer through the pain

   In faith our trust is not in vain.

In all the world of want and need

   I give myself to trust in You;

I cannot know, therefore I plead,

   “Please give me what is best and true.”

    I Trust, and I shall Rest in You.

JUSTIFICATION

Please, do not blame these simple lines

For honest faults and plain design.

The weakness is not theirs, but mine.

The lines were born in hopefulness,

With joy in bright-eyed eagerness

To live, to grow in holiness.

All things that live want to be loved,

To feel You smile down from above,

To be well-liked, well-spoken of.

Blame the corruption of the times,

Or blame my jingles and forced chimes,

But do not blame these honest rimes.

Each sound, each phrase, each stress, each word

Is ambitious of your grace, my Lord.

Return to Poems Menu

____________

From Potina, Lady of the Stag, second screen-novella of the Aegea Trilogy.  Each is a portrait. The portraits are mirrored, sacrifice and queen; priestess antagonist and novice heroine; flouncy servant and adventurous prince; mountain god and aged king.

PICTURED

Of feather-soft and water-smooth
She like a graceful peacock moves
Along the rolling ridge of hills,
Ever lovely, forever stilled.

And there are monkeys blue of skin,
And antelope well-lined and slim,
And there is saffron full in bloom,
And here her hair yet sprouts the plume

For which she passed from life to air,
And see, the layered skirts she wears
Are pretty now, as pretty new
When they from life the artist drew.

KEEPING

He has his work, and I have mine
To keep the house, its rooms, the shrine,
To light the incense, pour the wine
In offering, and trim the vine

That twines about the sacred stone.
We see the most when most alone
In quiet places, like the tomb
And the long-abandoned womb.

The goddess granted me a child,
A lion of a man and wild
And hungry for the sea. He roams
The waves, neglects his father’s throne.

                                             * * *

LADY OF THE STAG

Upon the grass a drop of dew
That sparkles a reflection, blue
Alike the sky that floats below,
A mirror of what she can know.

And here are stars in min’iture,
A moon that in the light demurs,
The sun, her God, shines brightly forth
In gold, in heat, in streams, with force

Upon the little drop of dew
That shows each morn the All, the new,
As she on grass tip steps in walk,
As she in mind talks and talks, and talks.

NECESSITY

A pretty dress, well, in its way,
Neat, though torn, clean, though frayed,
The color of the dye has gone,
As has the child when first ‘twas worn.

The other girls in this new place
Are pretty-skirted in colors gay;
They lightly move as light they may,
Born as they were to wealth and grace.

The girl is proud and too ashamed
Of the dress her mother made
In the queer place far, far away
In odd time, on a happy day.

                                             * * *

VEIL

A flounce, a bounce, a pretty turn,
The kind that is by study learned.
An imitation of the girls
He delights in swirls and curls.

And what’s to do when second-born,
The sea, tough work, or the court
To serve the prince in this or that,
To muse, to ease in silly chat

Of this or that. And see, he smiles,
His lash beguiles with girlish wiles
While all the while he serves the prince
A tasty dish, dainty and minced.

APPRENTICE

In beauty born with grace and wit
And looks and what’s become of it:
Amusements, quests, and errands dull
As father says, “This is my will.”

And he a god of sorts, and what
Am I, son of a god of sorts
Or something more, or something less,
A pretty boy, a silly prince.

Of course. Yes, I would be a man,
But how when merely what I am,
A novice prince strung on a leash,
Kept close, not soon to be released.

                                             * * *

KAPTARA'S JOY

Within, the heat, the stress, the force
That builds to flow along its course
Down crags and over trees to where
The priestess witch has kept her lair.

Up there the sky is charcoal gray
Now black with spots of ash that spray
Like sparkled blood that drifts through sky,
With one to fall to burn the eye.

Below, the ground quivers and cracks
Along some fissure’s gaping crack
From which up puffs the witch’s gas
Like fingers of green obscene grass.

JUDGMENT

The cicada sings to silence,
And so do I. A man sentenced
And soon to die from having life,
God’s greatest curse, and greatest gift.

Have I been strong. Have I been wise.
They say I have, but these are lies.
I fly upon the crested wave
Toward the rocks. What can be saved

Of what is good. Too soon the crash,
The splintered plank, the broken mast,
The torn sail. Hear! The mountain roars.
Stone cracks. The flame and tide of war.

Return to Poems Menu

        Michael Curtis EPO Poems Published Prior to 2023