Caedmon Denise Levertov All others talked as if
talk were a dance. Clodhopper I, with clumsy feet would break the
gliding ring. Early I learned to hunch myself close by the
door: then when the talk began I'd wipe my mouth and wend
unnoticed back to the barn to be with the warm beasts, dumb among
body sounds of the simple ones. I'd see by a twist of lit rush
the motes of gold moving from shadow to shadow slow in the wake
of deep untroubled sighs. The cows munched or stirred or were
still. I was at home and lonely, both in good measure. Until
the sudden angel affrighted me––light effacing my feeble beam, a
forest of torches, feathers of flame, sparks upflying: but the cows
as before were calm, and nothing was burning, nothing but I, as
that hand of fire touched my lips and scorched my tongue and
pulled my voice into the ring of the dance. Hello there.
Corinna Laughlin here with the poem of the week. This week,
we’re reading Denise Levertov’s “Caedmon,” in which she takes on the
voice of Caedmon, who is honored as the first known poet to write in the
English language. Scott Webster will read the poem, then I’ll be back
with some brief commentary. Thank you, Scott. It is
thanks to St. Bede the Venerable, the 7th and 8th-century English monk
and historian, that we know Caedmon’s story. Caedmon was a herdsman,
entrusted with the care of animals at the abbey presided over by St
Hilda in Whitby. Under her leadership, the arts flourished, and Bede
describes evenings when the harp would go round the room, with each
person singing and playing to the best of their ability. I think
many of us can identify with Caedmon, who, when he saw his turn coming,
would slip quietly away and go back to his place among the animals. But
one night, he had a dream in which an angel appeared to him and asked
him to sing about God’s creation. And Caedmon did. When he woke from
this dream, he remembered what he had sung. Not only that, he found the
gift persisted, and he was able to compose verse on all kinds of sacred
subjects. At Hilda’s invitation, he became a monk of the abbey, and the
author of many poems. Levertov tells Caedmon’s story in the
first person. Talk, he says, is a dance, something the others do
gracefully, but he is just a clodhopper, getting in the way. He seems to
be more at home among the animals—“dumb,” that is, silent, “among body
sounds,” not voices. But he is not quite comfortable there, either. He
is “at home and lonely,” “both in good measure.” He is drawn both to the
lighted hall and to the dark stable. Caedmon sleeps among the animals,
but I think we can sense that Caedmon is already a poet - he can see by
the light of a rush bits of chaff from the hay, floating in the breath
of the animals like motes of gold. Into this peaceful scene
comes an angel—a fiery vision, with feathers of flame, a forest of
torches and sparks. But nothing is on fire—except Caedmon himself. The
fire touches his mouth, scorches his tongue, and Caedmon joins the
dance. Levertov uses here an image right out of scripture. In
the sixth chapter of Isaiah, we hear of the prophet’s call. In a vision,
an angel takes a burning coal from the altar of God, and touches the
prophet’s mouth with it. It is a purifying fire, but also suggests the
urgency of his mission. He will speak God’s words, in his own voice. The
poet’s call is like the prophet’s call, a collaboration between God and
the individual. And like other prophets—Jonah, for example—Caedmon runs
from his call, a reluctant prophet, until at last, with some prompting
from God!, he lets himself be “pulled… into the ring of the dance.”
Caedmon’s story is a story of vocation—where our gifts and abilities
meet God’s mission. To conclude our reflection, let us listen
to the poem traditionally called “Caedmon’s hymn”—considered the oldest
poetry in the English language, and the only poetry of Caedmon that
survives. This translation from Old English is the work of Elaine
Treharne of Stanford University. Now we ought to praise the
Guardian of the heavenly kingdom, The might of the Creator and his
conception, The work of the glorious Father, as he of each of the
wonders, Eternal Lord, established the beginning. He first created
for the sons of men Heaven as a roof, holy Creator; Then the
middle-earth, the Guardian of mankind, The eternal Lord, afterwards
made The earth for men, the Lord almighty.
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