{"id":4270,"date":"2025-10-03T08:56:34","date_gmt":"2025-10-03T12:56:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.davideriknelson.com\/sbsb\/?p=4270"},"modified":"2025-10-03T08:56:35","modified_gmt":"2025-10-03T12:56:35","slug":"love-calls-us-to-the-things-of-this-world","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.davideriknelson.com\/sbsb\/index.php\/2025\/10\/love-calls-us-to-the-things-of-this-world\/","title":{"rendered":"“Love Calls Us to the Things of This World”"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Yesterday was Yom Kippur, which means there was a Yizkor<\/a> service with my congregation, which means I spent much of the day thinking of my father (of blessed memory), who I loved a great deal, despite not necessarily liking him very much.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Love Calls Us to the Things of This World<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

by Richard Wilbur<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The eyes open to a cry of pulleys,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

As false dawn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

                     Outside the open window   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The morning air is all awash with angels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Some are in bed-sheets, some are in blouses,   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some are in smocks: but truly there they are.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now they are rising together in calm swells   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of halcyon feeling, filling whatever they wear   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

With the deep joy of their impersonal breathing;<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Now they are flying in place, conveying<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The terrible speed of their omnipresence, moving   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And staying like white water; and now of a sudden   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

They swoon down into so rapt a quiet<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That nobody seems to be there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

                                             The soul shrinks<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    From all that it is about to remember,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the punctual rape of every bless\u00e8d day,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And cries,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

               \u201cOh, let there be nothing on earth but laundry,   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing but rosy hands in the rising steam<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And clear dances done in the sight of heaven.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Yet, as the sun acknowledges<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With a warm look the world\u2019s hunks and colors,   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The soul descends once more in bitter love   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

To accept the waking body, saying now<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a changed voice as the man yawns and rises,   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    \u201cBring them down from their ruddy gallows;<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Let there be clean linen for the backs of thieves;   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Let lovers go fresh and sweet to be undone,   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the heaviest nuns walk in a pure floating   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of dark habits,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 keeping their difficult balance.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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