Chester Cathedral by Candle-light

Part prose, part poem. An early draft.

 

 

Recently, we attended a candlelit tour of Chester Cathedral. In a mixture of blank verse and rhyme with no attempt to make it scan, I offer the first draft of a poem celebrating the event. I would welcome criticism on all aspects of this, as harsh as you wish. I seek to improve the work considerably before finalising. The avatar is the very modern, very beautiful Creation Window which is situated in the refectory.

 

Chester Cathedral by Candle-light

From the refectory, after taking wine under the Creation Window,

choristers, just two, lead off into the darkness;

Two candles and some plainsong enter the monasterial, cloistered gloom

of a thousand years of history described by a voice with ringing clarity.

 

Candles and tallow sticks, afford meagre light to the lofty room

that is the Chapter House, where ancient abbots

prayed, lectured and disciplined soul-departed monks

whose relics lie beneath the very floor on which we stand.

 

Flickering lights fluttered by the breath of singers reach the trusses of an ancient roof,

where odour of long-burned incense lingers, as we process with psalmody,

into choir and transept where Norman, Gothic , Romanesque

meet In the harmony of time-divided stone, surrounding stalls where singers

praise their Holy Lord, reclined on ancient misericord,

and with a plenitude of tone, ten centuries of song and prayer,

the seeds of God’s great love have sown.

 

Tonight in high fortissimo on humble visitors below,

the player in the organ loft plays sacred music loud, . . . .

then  soft . . . . as once more following guttering flame,

to Lady Chapel, bearing Werbergh’s name.

There stands her tomb, by masons’ skill restored,

no more with votive offerings’ brash decor by common folk adorned,

but soft lit by gentle candle, luminous, Holy, above reformation-scattered relics,

Princess, nun, saintly one, enthralled by numinous,

which even now radiates this Virgin’s Chapel.

 

Candles now burn low but steady, smoke-reduced,

still to guide the chant, the psalm, the following throng

who hear, beneath eternal flame, a mighty organ’s song

and, In sudden burst of light, behind High Altar, see

a reredos, of primary Eucharist telling, on the following day

redemption would the world set free.

A blaze of light has rent the veil;

Cathedral’s heart, before obscured,

Now opened wide, Lord God adored!

We know the meaning of that festive board!

 

The lighting dims, the visitors depart

Plainsong has ceased, the guides have played their part

The doors are locked, the speaking done,

The nave is dark, the candles gone.

Please God – that we should think upon

What you have done for everyone.

 

J.L.Berry 11 September 2008

 

Author's Note

Have a go - test me - seeif I can take criticism. There's room for plenty.

Reviews

[Faith Jones]

John! You really are a glutton for punishment! First I read your bio and then scrolled down and hit this spot, but I will go to the cats in a mo (thanks for your very generous comments on my little poem).
Why did I come here? Well, Chester was our next (shopping) city (I lived in Flinshire as a little girl) and I have haunting, if not haunted memories of Chester, especially the cathedral, where my mother used to drag me for a "rest" inbetween shopping down that covered row where Richard Jones used to be, traipsing down and up Bridge Street and finally dragging ourselves back to the station. I had most of my singing lessons somewhere a shortish bus ride from Chester centre (I have forgotten exactly where, though I went there hundreds of times). Ah, and one Saturday, we were walking down where the monks used to go up and down (forogtten what that covered archway is called) looking out on what I suppose must once have been a monks' garden, when my mother espied Bertrand Russall sitting on "our" bench and I was obliged to tag along while she tracked him, though I protested vigorously. That experience dates me!
Now to the poem. Lovely memories and some beautiful writing. I can't help feeling that this has epic qualities and would benefit from being in hexameters (or maybe pentamemters) but not necessarily rhyming pairs. Though it would entail coupling some of the lines, I don't think that would do it any harm. Obviously, a mainly descriptive piece would be hard to shrink (or rather compress) to sonnet length. I always think the sonnet form has an element of "words fail me to describe what I think and feel, so I'll wear a corset" which is not meant negatively at all. Just think of Shakespeare's wonderful sonnets, which probably instigated more speculation (and wonder) than any other poems in English literature.
I see that at times you have rhymes and at other times it is blank verse, and I'm not sure if that isn't a bit of metaphor-mixing, if you understand me. There are also lines which feel prosaic stylistically but not contextually. That's where I think the hexameters come in. They have the most scope of any verse form, which is why they were used for epic poems, I suppose.
So now I'll move on to the cats!