Like the empty chalice of our soul
the choice wine spills over cheerfully so
that it may be shared with the stray dogs.
How ridiculous it is to spill a drink,
how expensive and aged the wine.
But such is the joyful abandon
of a radical-love God.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love this poem. It's not just an issue of understanding it or agreeing with it or finding the language beautiful. All those things are true. But to love a poem means in some mysterious way you take it inside you and find that it is already there. I expressed this idea in my poem ROBERT BLY'S READING OCT 16,2013. I'm what one philosopher of religion called a multi-faith believer, I can't be tied to one religion, one belief system which crowds out the others. But genuine religious sentiment as in this poem always connects with the spiritual within me. I don't want to say more. The title alone is so eloquent my words are unnecessary.