chinking

Today Mary took us to the labyrinth and invited us to invite the mystical into the remaining portion of our pilgrimage with her.

Then we went to Dublin to experience the poetry and places in Dublin that were “hearths” of the 20th century Irish poet, Patrick Kavanaugh.

We went to the canal he visited often and often. There we met a father and his son – was dad in his late sixties and son in his 30’s? Maybe. Anyway, we got to talking about Patrick . . . the younger one remembered a part of a line from a poem . . and Mary finished it.

I went to the bookstore and bought his collected poems.

The name of the poem that was given voice around the seated statue of Patrick on a bench along the canal were words he wrote, my book says was written sometime between 1939 and 1946. It is called “Advent.”

Think about the chinking between logs in a log home or in Ireland between the rocks of a home with walls of rock known here as your “hearth.”

The poem is longer – but these nine words are what were remembered today:

“Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.”

“Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.”

“Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.”

These words invite my wonder . . . how about you?

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4 Comments

  1. Yes. I wonder. I delight in the wonder.

    Reply

  2. Bernie Hupperts August 25, 2012 at 8:14 pm

    What’s amazing–the thought wrapped in a simple image. Think of a chink that comes wide–in winter there can’t be any wonder, just cold, cold, cold. The wonder is taken away because the chink shows all and brings in all.

    Reply

  3. Cat Christensen August 26, 2012 at 10:37 am

    The chink leaves less possibilities for imagination. But is that the same phenomenon as wonder?

    Reply

  4. Love your blogs and thought of you Tuesday when i was on an 1888 restored sailboat on Chesapeake Bay. She is named ELF after the mythical elf of Ireland who got into lots of trouble. I thought of you two! Hugs , Fay

    Reply

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