‘…means what it does’.
I read: ‘God cannot be named; cannot be and cannot have,
a ‘proper noun’; God can only be approached
through verbs and adjectives.’
The eight petunias which arrived so neatly in
their cardboard box as if pretending to be a book,
are already upright, thriving, growing;
that magic petal radiance of the deepest purple-blue
so delicate, so unique, seems to fill
the space around them with a message:
this is what God sings;
this is how God grows;
this is what God does;
this is what ‘God’ means.
*
And what of the ‘soul’? Can this be named?
as God in us, how can we know it
but by verbs and adjectives;
it ‘means’ just what it does..
A meditation, deep in inner mysteries
as mind delved in itself
for hidden things yet beyond words,
beyond all self yet known to be,
interrupted by the delivery man –
I drag myself reluctantly from chair to door:
he’s met with such a glorious sunshine burst
of goodwill, gratitude…
this is what soul sings;
this is how soul grows;
this is what soul does;
this is what ‘soul’ means.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem