Spietis of the Devill

Spietis of the Devill                     Mary Stromer Hanson

                                                  October 30, 2016

Spietis of the devill, shrieked the High

Court of Justiciary. Women for pain.

No whiff of herb, sorcerie,  charms.

Sche deserves what Eve brought forthe.

Timber heaped high, stake driven deep.

Shee is reprehensible and heretical. 

From Pain of labour to Pain of flames,

Eufame MacLayne bare twins, her babes

torn from her full breasts aching on the

Castle Hill of Edinburgh. Genesis, Exodus . .

Do not contravene the Decrees of Providence.

Evil women. Gateway of the Devil. 

Sche gasped for a potion, the midwife

Agnes Sampson, seized her hidden stash.

Now damned for showing compassion

practicing her craft. Carnal, Heresy!

Woman, do not despise your curse.

Outcasts, Bitches, Hexen, Vixen, Scum.

Faire is foul, and foul is faire. She who is

the misbegotten sex, brings black plague.

"God almighty, when did I deny you?

You forsook me, you made my feminine form."

Fire licking at her soles, hair singed."

“Come my child, you are home in my breasts.”

Wedding Poem after Song of Solomon

Cecil Buller Embrace, from Song of Solomon, 1929

 

Wood engraving 1929

  Art Institute Chicago

Wedding Song after Solomon

by Mary Stromer Hanson

Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, 

Take my hand on this path unknown. 

Cleaving forever to you alone, 

And leave my mother and father’s home. 

Blessed with sweet wine and the honeycomb, 

Our bed is green as in Solomon’s poem. 

Together we go to a place of our own, 

And find there our own sweet shalom. 

 I give to you, you give to me, 

Such is God’s plan since Adam and Eve. 

Man and Woman, together they lead, 

Ruling the earth by God’s decree, 

Mirrored in God’s image equally. 

When the time comes that we disagree, 

Patience and prayer, that is the key. 

May Christ be the head of this family. 

Wind and rain, rock and flame, 

 Yes, we are different, but also the same. 

When you are strong, that is my gain, 

If I am weak, that is your pain. 

With God’s blessing, peace does reign, 

Sin and sorrow which Christ overcame. 

All that is old has passed away, 

Together our crown we do reclaim.

Mary Did As Mothers Do

Kaethe Kollwitz 1867-1945  a Prussian artist mostly influenced by the German Expressionist. She lost a son in WW1 and a grandson in WWII. She was most interested in drawing the suffering of the working class and greatly impacted by the wars.

"There has been enough of dying! Let not another man fall!"

Mary Stromer Hanson April 2016

 Mary Did As Mothers Do 

                                            Mary did as mothers do.                                              

She drew him under her scarf,

If sharp winds suddenly blew.

Or wrapped him in her skirt,

He noted the hen too lowered her wings,

Over her chicks frightened,

Of dangers, she taught him what she knew,

When overhead an eagle flew.

One day they drew lots for his coat.

Did she teach him how to die?

Mary did as mothers do,

And Joseph too, in the cool of the grove,

They taught him where the olives grew.

To seek solitude and sustenance,

In trees where he rested and prayed.

He selected wood with strength and straight

Grain to build tables and good things.

They taught him work that satisfied.

Then one day a tree was felled. 

Did they teach him how to die?

Mary did as mothers do.

She hastened not where the poor

Hoped for healing or sight renewed.

He saw those begging for crumbs or coins.

She taught him to care, 

And showed how blessings are shared.

One day he was anointed king,

His feet were washed by her who cried,

He received the oil over his head.

Did she teach him how to die?

Mary did as mothers do.

On that day the angel Gabriel came.

Obedience the only answer she knew.

“May it be unto me as you say.”

This son of the house of David born

By the power of the most high.

As she obeyed so did he,

The call of the Father not denied.

One day he faced Jerusalem.

Did she teach him how to die?

In Memory of Her

Mary Magdalen 1926 by Eric Gill 1882-1940

Tate Gallery London

Mark 14:9 And truly I say to you, wherever the gospel is preached in the whole world,

That also which this woman has done shall be spoken of in memory of her.

In Memory of Her

Mark 14:9 And truly I say to you, wherever the gospel is preached in the whole world,

That also which this woman has done shall be spoken of in memory of her.

She, who alone understood,

            What the others found too hard.

Her alabaster flask was filled,

            With a rare and costly nard.

She, who did the utmost,

            Her lot in life allowed.

The poor are with us always,

            Here sat Jesus before her now.

She, who anointed the head,

            Of David’s son, this was the mark,

Of the heavenly King, who

By thorny crown was scarred.

She, who felt the scorn,

            “She’ll be stopped,” they vowed.

“No, this is a great favor.

            The deed she did just now.”

She, who showed such love,

            With the little in her power.

By her His body was prepared,

            For the burial and sorrow.

She, who did not speak,

            Her actions spoke much louder.

Had the twelve only asked her,

            Her motive would not be doubted.

She, who was not asked.

            Her wisdom lost never learned!

Her thoughts were never sought,

            Her voice was never heard.

She, will be remembered,

            Far as the gospel reaches.

Whomever is empowered, and

            Forever her story teaches.

Chorus:

In Memory of her, in memory of her.

Truly I say to you, wherever the gospel’s told.

In the whole world. In the whole world.

What she has done, will be told.

In memory of her.

The Master's Voice

Painting by Jacques Josept Tissot (1836-1902:  Last Discourse of Our Lord Jesus Christ

THE MASTER’S VOICE     Matthew 29:30

Bread broken, a hymn was sung.

“I will not drink of the vine,

fruit of earthly soil until new

with you in my father’s kingdom.”

He raised his voice a soft rumble;

The root note beneath them all.

Thunder in the distance, his bass

Lifted them sweetly aloft.

Perhaps he voiced high tenor,

His lips shaping clear vowels

That soared above the others.

He set the true pitch sensed
 in shimmering stars.

Did their wet eyes seek his,

Inhale in unison, or did Jesus

Tap the down beat?

Harmony in fifths and fourths

Angelic voices chimed in above.

Marys and Simons in harmony

Tightly woven, occasional

Dissonance relaxed melts into

the sweetest tension.

Earthly echoes of heavenly resonance

A Capella or did John tune the lute?

This the voice lambs heard,

Stilled the water, raised the dead.

Which psalm duets the last cup?

A tremor here and a catch

In breath, there, they blend again.

A plagal echo lingers eternally

Absorbed in ancient walls,

Witnessed the final Amen.

By Mary Stromer Hanson March 2016