Blessed John Paul II, Poem by Fr. Edward O.P.

Bl. John Paul II

Ordinary Time: October 22nd

At the community Mass this morning, having Blessed John Paul II in mind, we prayed for one fearful of hospital diagnosis.

----Forwarded Message---- 

From: Fr. Edward ....
Subject: So many matters 

Oct 21 at 6:48 AM

Dear Father Donald,

I thought to send you this poem.

. . .

I am trying to translate the poem into Polish (via Google translator) but I cannot get it to work. There will be Poles present at the Mass tomorrow night. I thought to get one to correct the translation. Have you Polish help?

Blessings from

fr Edward

End of a Stykkisholmur Novena to Blessed John Paul

Prophetic leaves  showed

the direction and strength of the wind.

Pope Paul VI died in the Papal summer house

of Castel Gandolfo.

Expectations opened out.

To my Cambridge Brethren

before leaving for Rome

I said with conviction,

“The Church needs a totally sure moral leadership”.

but with long experience of Italy and the Church in Rome

Father Kanalm was self-sure enough to reject my candidate

who was the Polish Primate, Cardinal Vyshinski.

“A Polish Pope, Edward? Totally out of the question!”

They elected Cardinal Luciano, Patriarch of Venice.

He had written a few catechetical orderings,

and had addressed the thoughts of his soul to figures dead and living:

G.K. Chesterton, Ste Therese of Lisieux, Pinocchio,

designated together as “Illustrissimi.”

But he smiled and spoke from the depths of conscious heart-warmth,

and he chose the double name of John (in honour of Blessed John XXIII)

and Paul (in honour of Paul VI).

I arrived  in Rome for the enthusiasm of his last General Audience

with the incidental boy-scherzo with Danielo.

Two days later he was found dead in bed;

his finger nails pierced the sheet of paper he was reading (so Father Magee his Secretary),

indicating a massive stroke from which he died instantly.

Like a champion runner he passed to his successor

a relayed torch of optimism and joy.

At his funeral in the Piazza the heavens wept rain

from a grey sky, and a solitary displaced pigeon

circled the scene and disappeared.

I had heard the masons’ hammers fashioning the tomb below the Basilica floor.

The Cardinals deliberated;

the winds of hope were tangled.

One of our Sisters - Catherine - was a typist at the Secretariat of State.

Archly she broke silence and said,

“They’re saying at the Vatican!” (the atmosphere electrified; normally she kept silent)

“the next Pope will be called John Paul ...”.

And so it was, and when presented from the  balcony he said

“and with the help of Madonna sanctissima”

the hearts of all those present were swept clean and pure by his self-consciousness;

it all augured powerfully well.

Nearly martyred in the Piazza, his assailant’s gun jammed,

but from our Grottaferrata community

Sister Letizia Judice grabbed with force the back of his jacket,

and the Carabinieri moved quickly to take him into custody

as the Vatican ambulance, “going like the clappers” said il Conte Ambrogio, my friend

(it nearly knocked him down),

and a surgeon saved his life at the Policlinico Gemelli.

He moved quickly to become a World-Pope:

not only an Italian, not only a Polish Pope.

though his Polishness was not suppressed.

He released on the Catholic Church and the whole world

the unshakeable conviction  that he was a man to be totally trusted.

Conscious of the force called into play,

he worked continually, his soul finding the charisma

within which he must pray, preach, speak and act.

Helped by an equipe of thirty priests he ran the Church

with charity and energy.

That Polish smile took on the experience and undisplayed anxieties:

so many documents,

so many sermons,

so many decisions,

so many travels.

The world knew him and he knew the world that knew him,

raised in heart and mind to the intensity of heaven

as an offering, holocausted and immolated on the altar of Saint Peter’s

and innumerable world altars on his visits.

Until he, the great preacher, could speak no more,

and must resign himself to enter the Father’s house.

Where, apotheosised, he shines in ever growing glory

where we must follow within the power of his tumultuous praise.

Stykkisholmur

20 October 2013

Fr. Father Edward O.P.

St. Augustine final words, lines from Fr. Edward 28 Aug 2013

Dear Edward, 

You kindly intended the Poem ATTACHMENT.

A mystery of opening the message.

This was a puzzle for downloading the poem.

It was in fact a URL, the Link to be copied and pasted to the Toolbar, and eventially came to the surface.

Thank you.   

In Dno.,

Donald, domdonald.org.uk 

----- Forwarded Message -----
From: edward . . .
To: Donald . . . 

Sent: Friday, 30 August 2013, 12:42
Subject: St. Augustine - a re-sending of the poem

Dear Father Donald,

Thank you for your Email  I must have failed to establish the connection between the poem and the email. I had sent  it as Bcc to about eight recipients, so I will send it to all of you.

. . . 

Blessings in Domino,

fr Edward O.P..  

P.S. Thank you for sending your blog.

“He is not a great man ...”

The final words of Augustine;

his native city was surrounded; not linked Legionwise, shield to shield,

but clumped with their horses

at varying distances from the city’s limits.

Were there pauses with brief encounters

between besiegers and besieged?

Were there pauses for trading,

and others for marauding and stealing?

In his house the Bishop had had

psalms and prayers written large on the walls.

His study was filled with books and papers.

Would he need more those parchment fragments,

pumiced clean,

with their references,

their plans,

their notes and reminders?

Desert dust was long settled on those curling scraps

and he was now lost in thought and in God,

articulating passing ascents to illuminations,

even unions.

His writings were piled with greater neatness

awaiting deposition after transportation -

but where?

He would be transported to his grave

when life had ebbed completely,

and he had consigned his thought

to his accustomed listeners.

But from whence came those lines from Plotinus on mortality?

Porphyry he had quoted many times in his two great writings,

but his master from Tyre he had not cited!

Perhaps they were sent by a connoisseur

who had linked them with the arrival of the horsemen.

Adversity had not sapped his courage

as he continued to himself:

“... who think it a great thing

that beams and walls should fall

and mortal man should perish!”

Fr. Edward

Stykkisholmur

on his feastday - 28 August 2013

COMMENT:

Hi. William,
Thank you, I can almost bet on gaining further insight to my ponderings.
God bless you.
fr. Donald.
P.S. Below, picture inscribing the text of the challenging translation word 'begemming'. 

----- Forwarded Message -----

"begemmed" with tears of Holy Face? English translation

From: William J. ...
To: Donald. ...
Sent: Sunday, 4 August 2013, 19:10
Subject: Canticle of the Holy Face

Dear Father Donald,

I have received so much delight sharing in your beautiful ponderings - "Beyond all the FACES, the divine presence, is faith in God who IS!" and I too can 'read' the Holy Face in your photographs of the trees, and see images in nature - cloud formations can be quite mystical! And behind these images one can sense the Hand of God as one gazes in a spirit of adoration... 

St Therese's poem is exceptional! I have been studying it (four columned attachment). I too prefer the Internet version. The endeavour to make the English translation rhyme in the other two versions, for me, detracts from the exquisite sentiments she expresses. I was very chuffed to find my little grasp of French re-awaken sufficiently that I could attempt (very cautiously) altering some of the very literal phrases where the sense seemed confused.

This delightful excursus with you has filled my day with much happiness. I have taken a print of the 'paper' to ponder in the quiet morning hours before the images of the FACE of Christ that I love so much (Leonardo's Salvator Mundi and Reni's Ecce Homo). And I am eager to find again those passages in St Paul's letters and the Psalms!

Ever do I pray for enlightenment, and it is indeed such that I receive from your inspired thoughts - thank you Father!

What Joy we experience

in the love of Our Lord,

William

Poems of the Little Flower of Jesus; CANTICLE TO THE HOLY FACE

Dear William,

It is an extremely interest to compare the translations of one poem in the Poems of the Little Flower of Jesus.

There is also the multi-task in melodies, chords, keys in the features of the FACE in our vision.

There are countless pictures of Jesus in devotion pictures.

I love to 'read' the Holy Face in the trees in our windows.

Looking the trees in the wind and see the faces. ...

There is more to remember from St Theres's being named 'of the Holy Face'.

Beyond all the FACES, the divine presence, is faith in God who IS! 

 For the moment pondering.
God love.
fr. Donald

Poems of the Little Flower of Jesus

CANTICLE TO THE HOLY FACE

COMMENTARY:    

'Begemmed' re the tears of the Holy Face in the Poem of Therese paused for thought, a rather unfamiliar word.  

The Canticle to the Holy Face is another curtain raiser to the whole 'story of the soul', of Saint Therese of the Infant of Jesus and of the Holy Face.

Writing, poetry, art, dance, song, is the multi-task of her life in fullness.

One tip of iceberg from the translation, "Holy Face) Of those dear Eyes begemmed with tears", "De tes yeux embellis de pleurs", immerses to the Face visions.

Icons, paintings and Biblical references to the  Divine Face echoes in Therese of the Holy Face.

The chart of the 4 versions of the poem give lessons well.

Surprising is to find the Internet translation from the original being very literal and seems to prove the best poem.
Reading and re-reading the French and Internet translation gives me unending grasp of mind and heart.

 1.     Cantique à la Sainte Face.
http://www.abbaye-saint-benoit.ch/saints/carmel/thereseenfj/poesies1/025.htm
2. Collected Poems of Therese of Lisieux. Translated by  Alan Bancroft.
3. Poems of St Therese of the Child Jesus. Translated by the Carmelites of Santa Clara, Cal., USA. Oct 1925

Cantique à la Sainte Face. Original: French Jésus ton ineffable image Est l'astre qui conduit mes pas ; Tu le sais bien, ton doux Visage Est pour moi le ciel ici-bas ! Mon amour découvre les charmes De tes yeux embellis de pleurs. Je souris à travers mes larmes, Quand je contemple tes douleurs. Oh ! je veux pour te consoler Vivre ignorée et solitaire; Ta beauté que tu sais voiler Me découvre tout son mystère, Et vers toi je voudrais voler! Ta Face est ma seule patrie, Elle est mon royaume d'amour; Elle est ma riante prairie, Mon doux soleil de chaque jour; Elle est le lis de la vallée Dont le parfum mystérieux Console mon âme exilée, Lui fait goûter la paix des cieux. Elle est mon repos, ma douceur, Et ma mélodieuse lyre... Ton Visage, ô mon doux Sauveur, Est le divin bouquet de myrrhe Que je veux garder sur mon coeur ! Ta Face est ma seule richesse; Je ne demande rien de plus. En elle, me cachant sans cesse, Je te ressemblerai, Jésus ! Laisse en moi la divine empreinte De tes traits remplis de douceurs, Et bientôt je deviendrai sainte, Vers toi j'attirerai les coeurs ! Afin que je puisse amasser Une belle moisson dorée, De tes feux daigne m'embraser! Bientôt, de ta bouche adorée, Donne-moi l’éternel baiser! 12 août 1895. 1 Certains airs profanes, comme celui-ci, avaient été indiqués à la Bienheureuse par sa cousine, Sr Marie de l'Eucharistie, et elle s'était inspirée du rythme pour composer ses vers. Depuis, bien des auteurs se sont essayés à mettre en musique quelques-unes de ces poésies. Un recueil en a été édité.	Hymn to the Holy Face. Translation: Internet Jesus your ineffable picture Is the star that guided my steps; You know it, your sweet face Is my heaven on earth! My love discovers the charms Your eyes embellished with tears. I smiled through my tears, When I look at your pain. Oh! I want to comfort you Living ignored and lonely; You know your beauty veil I discovered all its mystery, And I want you to fly! Your Face is my only home, She is my kingdom of love; It is my cheerful meadow, My sweet sun each day; She is the lily of the valley Whose mysterious perfume Console my exiled soul, A taste of heaven him peace. It is my rest, my sweetness, And my melodious lyre ... Your face, my sweet Savior, Is the divine bouquet of myrrh I want to keep on my heart! Your Face is my only wealth; I ask nothing more. In it, hiding me constantly, I'll look like you, Jesus! Let me in the divine imprint Of your lines filled with sweets, And soon I will become holy, To you I will draw the hearts! So I can raise A golden harvest Of your fires ablaze deigns me Soon, your mouth adored Give me the eternal kiss! August 12, 1895. 1 Some secular tunes, as it had been given to the Blessed by his cousin, Sister Mary of the Eucharist, and she was inspired to compose his pace. Since then, many authors have tried to put some music of these poems. A collection has been published.
CANTICLE TO THE HOLY FACE Translated by the Carmelites of Santa Clara, Cal., USA. Oct 1925 JESUS, Thine image, fair to trace, Shall be my star, where'er I go, Thou knowest, in Thy Sacred Face, I find my Heaven, while here below. My love hath found the charm untold Of those dear Eyes begemmed with tears, I smile, though weeping, to behold The grief that in their depth appears. Fain would I, to be Thy solace, Live forgotten and unknown, For the beauty Thou art veiling Hath to me its secret shown, Drawing me to Thee alone. Thy holy Face shall be my home, The Kingdom of my heart's best love, The smiling meadow where I roam, My Sun each day in skies above. My hidden lily of the vale, Whose mystic perfume, faint and rare, Shall to my banished soul exhale The peace of Heaven I long to share. 'Tis my rest, my harp melodious, Where the strains of Heaven recur; Thy dear Face, my gentle Saviour, Is a knot of sacred myrrh; From my breast 'twill never stir. My only treasure is Thy Face, No other do I ask to see, There shall I find my hiding place, Till, Jesus, I resemble Thee. O seal me with divine impress Of Thy sweet Image, as I plead; Full soon, imbued with holiness, To Thee all hearts my heart shall lead. With Thy fires of love inflame me, That from ripened fields be stored Harvests rich in golden plenty; Soon then, from Thy mouth adored, Thine eternal kiss accord. August 12. 1895.	29. MY HEAVEN HERE BELOW  Translated by Alan Bancroft 1996 1.      Your picture, Jesus, like a star  Is guiding me! And, ah, You know  Your Features - grace itself they are  To me, are Heaven here below.  Your weeping ... that to Love appears  As ornament - attractiveness!  I'm smiling while I'm shedding tears  At seeing You in your distress.  2.      To comfort You, I want to be  Unknown upon the earth. Below  Your Beauty's veiled, and yet to me  Reveals its Mystery! and, oh,  Would I, to You, were flying free!  3.      Your Face ... my only Homeland, and  The Kingdom, too, where Love has sway:  And it's my smiling meadowland,  The gentle Sun of every day:  The Lily of the Valley - ah,  Its perfume's Mystery! I'm giv'n  What consolation from afar -  A foretaste of the Peace of Heav'n.  4.      Your Face - repose and tenderness  Is truly my melodious lyre ...  Bouquet of Myrrh, I would caress  (Such gentleness do You inspire!),  That safely to my heart I'd press ....  5.      Your Face ... ah, only that will be  The wealth I ask as revenue: I'll hide in it, unceasingly;  Then, Jesus, I'll resemble You.  Imprint in me those traits divine  Your Gentleness of Face imparts;  Holiness, then, will soon be mine  To You I'll be attracting hearts.  6.      So I can gather souls - it's this,  A golden harvest, I desire -  Set me aflame! And, soon, in bliss,  Grant that sweet burning of Your Fire,  Your lips in an eternal Kiss!