Arts+Culture

Arts+Culture

We Are the Eighth Day, © Melanie Weidner

Poetry

Friday

I am imagining the soldier
who drove the nails,
clambering around or across
the body, straddling and stretching
to reach the hands,
trying to avoid seeing
the face and eyes,
ignoring the eternal life line
dividing the palms
from fingers down to wrists,
glimpsing the lips
moving silently,
mouthing words not meant
for ears to hear;
And I’m wondering
how many keepers of reliquaries
claim to own those nails,
or perhaps even the letter home
written by the nailer
or some other soldier ordered
later to do his duty
and pull them out.
Poetry

Late teaching



       (Mark 12:1-12)

Time’s Visitor feels time upon his head.
Tuesday of Holy Week. Sunday’s parade.
Monday’s prophetic Temple escapade.
And three days hence “beloved son” is dead.
(This was the designation Mark had heard
From Peter’s lips: “Christ said ‘beloved son.’”)
Now, since his earthly race is nearly done,
No calembour must cloud Messiah’s word.
So we require no fancy exegesis,
Creation’s gifts are here; the Covenant;
Moses; the prophets; foul sin’s great affront;
Pater absconditus, Father of Jesus.
He knew the issue of these words, so clear,
He even knew the time of chanticleer.







Film

Mr. Chappelle's neighborhood

If there is a movie that can make you feel optimistic about the possibilities of forming community in America, Dave Chappelle’s Block Party is it. In September 2004 Chappelle, an African-American stand-up comic, celebrated his $50 million contract with Comedy Central by throwing a free hip-hop party in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn.
Poetry

A word and a calling

He rose again. His face was black and bruised.
The underground famine had gnawed its gloss.
Where I have been, you could not live to tell.
First, his women returned, and then his friends.
They reached to press their fingers to his scar.
Do not touch me, he scolded crossly, cold
as Christ. Instead, they stroked the air, feeling
by degree for what had changed. But new moods
bloomed from his skin and from his bristle.
He spit upon the ground and then he cursed.
He did not walk towards the light, he walked
away. And the lock-jaw mouth of the grave
stayed agape, misgiving. As if it did
not know: Dead does not mean dead forever.



Music

Sound alternatives

The British band Delirious has always been smart, drawing comparisons to U2, Radiohead and Blur. With the album The Mission Bell, the band shoots for added lyrical depth and force. “Our God Reigns,” a key-of-D dirge built around spare acoustic guitar, keyboards and thunderous percussion, may be the hardest-hitting piece, tacking issues like abortion and the AIDS pandemic. (“My Chinese take away/ Could pay for someone’s drugs.”) “Love Is a Miracle” alternates between smoldering, soulful verses and wide-open, gospel-flavored choruses, while “Paint the Town Red” rocks as hard as anything Delirious has ever cut.