[Len Krisak]

Closing Parishes in Boston

The Church accountants are preparing sales,
lock, stock and altar. Carpenters install
antennas on our spire, remove the nails
that fastened Jesus to our sun-washed wall,
and fill old window frames with plexiglass,
a transubstantiation of lost grace.
Church spokesmen blame headcounts of Sunday Mass
as if there were no history to face.

Law veiled child rape with lies. We strain to pray,
to trap some saint who eases rage in times
of ruptured trust, to stagger toward that day
when faith may force forgiveness of their crimes,
but hammering goes on with steady violence,
an urgent knocking in unholy silence.


The first question I asked myself about “Closing” was,
“Can this poem redeem that daring use of the word ‘history’
at the end of the octet”? The poet has set off fire-alarms,
but I admire the way the trucks respond. The pun on “Law”
is especially bold, since that is the actual name of the Boston cardinal involved. An unsettling subject handled with
dignity and forthrightness—and, like all the sonnets I’m
commenting on in the nine picked, with great technical skill
(no clichés, trite phrasing, clumsy meter, or stilted
inversions, etc.). I might have turned “rages” to “rage,”
and “their” in line 12 threatens to become an untethered
pronoun looking for its antecedent, but those are very
minor quibbles.

[Richard Wakefield]

That "urgent knocking" -- Luther's hammer at the door? I'm not so sure about "force" in "faith may force forgiveness," but maybe that's the way it feels to one whose roots in the church goes deeper than mine. "Unholy silence" is the perfect way to conclude.
RPW

[Tim Murphy]

As a member of my parish finance council AND a victim of clerical abuse, I really admire this poem, particularly the Law pun and the final couplet.

[grasshopper]

The more I read this, the more I like it. It's a very masculine, sinewy poem, and the argument is sustained so well. I think I know the author--perhaps some laws are juster than others.
I can feel the controlled anger in this, and the closing image of the hammering on the door is perfect. A very fine sonnet.
Regards, Maz

[Terese Coe]

Kudos to Michael for taking on this subject, and the sonnet has considerable power. I would have thought the matter too large for a sonnet, but there it is, the news intact, the emotions seething, as they should be.

Two nits: there may be a better word for "Church spokesmen"; and "force" is excessive for how faith leads to forgiveness.

Terese

[Rose Kelleher]

What impresses me is how this expresses such a complex mix of emotions in 14 lines, the same mix I imagine I'd feel if my neighborhood church were converted into office space (or whatever it is that needs antennas). As I read it, the octave is about nostalgia, loss, and a beseiged feeling. It's "our" spire, "our" sun-washed wall. The image of stained glass windows being replaced with plexiglass suggests a change for the worse, the loss of something beautiful. Then of course there's anger in the spondees of "Law veiled child rape" and the hammering at the end, and a weary uncertainty in "stagger toward that day."

The words "faith may force" are loaded with meaning(s).


[This message has been edited by Rose Kelleher (edited July 04, 2005).]