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ARTS AND CULTURE

Half-baked takes on the glory of God

  • 15 December 2009

Peals of light

for the parishioners of St Augustine Roman Catholic Church in Brooklyn, NY and Dalienne Majors, especially, who inspired this.

... Saturnalibus, optimo dierum ... –Valerius Gaius Catullus

I heard the bells on Christmas day –Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

For as long as we have feared darkness and frigidity, spires we erect have nosed upwards we have stretched to reach to touch the celestial concert of bodies, ambulant and fixed, whether arrayed in borrowed light or radiating with interior fire. galaxies dispense the luxury that light is, borne on waves as it traverses space and time that we might be carried away with ourselves, our senses all fullness, as we behold and are moved to return the favor, courtesy of the choreography of fingers on strings, we, in our colossal ingenuity attach to sound frameworks of our own design, as with lips and larynxes animated by muscle and soul, we unleash song all in the service of desire gifts, reciprocal. We emulate with half-lame gestures, insufficient and diffuse, dissolving into air like smoke ascending from a goat on an altar — as if God were open to flattery for we know it's the thought that counts out the measure, that calls the tune, the pig-headed divine within us as we hammer away like clappers in crowns, attempting scaled-down versions of whatever meager quotient of splendor we might manage to render out of love like that which moved the God of Genesis to cure his own loneliness.   On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: five golden rings of truth, five haloes, the five books of the Torah, the five feet of the iambs of bards, the five fingers of the hand, five short-falling senses by means of which we exude, execute ornate strategies and half-baked takes on the glory of God — our own walloping renditions of angels and saints; whether drafted in ramous pains- taking reticules of lead and vitrified emeralds, ambers and burgundies, or coaxed out of marble, even the greatest of our puny efforts do deliver us out of our skins, move us from our self-assigned spots. The bones of our imperfect artistry glow and a wondrous argument rumbles within, which comes to us on waves, arriving like sound or light. How proud are we of our ornery Buonarroti, for example, working day and night, tethered like Sisyphus to scaffolding he erected, his arthritic piety a functional machine strapped to him to him like a pair of iron wings, and he, stuck in a dead heat: longshot in a contest between him and his better self. In the end, neither won, neither captured the perfect likeness in perfect light. But we prevailed or were triumphant, and I like to think God won too, that when God looked upon those completed works, whether wrestled out of rock or left in a lavish sprawl across the broad vaulted cappella that doubled as a canvas, that God took it all in, and