Like a Book
He reads me like a book, the One Who wrote
Me; knows, it seems, each page of me by heart
And can to my chagrin succinctly quote
Each savory (and somewhat less so) part.
His first draft was, of course, a work of art,
But soon enough my rewrites did by fits
And starts so far from the original depart
It stuns me that He didn’t call it quits.
Instead He kindly skims the boring bits
(The sinful bits); just sighs and turns the page;
He’s read it all before, the counterfeits
By which we from His tale can disengage.
Yet in His mercy, surely by His grace:
His early notes He still can clearly trace.
Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Agape Review, America Magazine, Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, U.S. Catholic, Grand Little Things, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website.
Wonderful and true – thank you
This is a good example of the 17th-century “conceit,'” or strange and extended metaphor that dominates the poem from start to finish. Here we have a human life as a book, written by God but changed in places by sins and mistakes, yet still understood by its author and tolerated.
Jeffrey, you packed some beautiful timeless thoughts into your Spenserian sonnet offering hope to those who lean on the everlasting arms and have faith in His grace.
A model Spenserian sonnet, Jeffrey. Each quatrain is a complete sentence, yet the Spenserian rhyme scheme carries the thought smoothly through them to the turn where it usually is for English and Scottish sonnets–at the couplet. You nonetheless mark the classic 8/6 sonnet proportion with the “stopping” word of “quits.”
The poem reminds me of Ecclesiasticus [Sirach] 23:28. “The eyes of the Lord are far, far brighter than the sun, looking everywhere upon the ways of men, and into the depth of the abyss, and the hearts of men, beholding their hidden parts.”
A well-written, poignant sonnet, Jeffrey, which displays your great skill at traditional form poetry.
Jeffrey, I think the previous commentators have said it all about the form and content of your lovely sonnet. I just wanted to add that I like the mixture of traditional poetic constructions (e.g. lines 6-7, 12 and 14) and modern conversational expressions (e.g. rewrites, call it quits, boring bits) – I suspect this partly reflects the human mixture that is you! Best wishes, Bruce
I really love extended metaphors like this. You’ve truly outdone yourself with this one, Jeffrey! It’s not only beautifully put together, but also profoundly thought out.
This striking and admirably crafted sonnet is a beautiful conceit. I love the way the imagery of drafts, rewrites, and “boring bits” transforms spiritual experience into the language of craft, and no matter how many edits, the Author still remembers His first, perfect vision. I love the gratitude, grace, and humility of the piece, and I especially like the idea of being read and understood by a Maker full of mercy. Thank you!
This poem is truly first-rate. You had me at every word, Jeffrey. Mostly I tend to skim and gloss over — not today. God as a writer is a fairly astounding concept, and it gives me ideas…
What a beautiful way to convey much truth. I simply love it. My favorite line is, “It stuns me that He didn’t call it quits.” Indeed, “In His mercy, surely by His grace.”
This is a remarkable tribute to our Creator, who with justice and grace is constantly editing us into ultimately the perfect book. For that I cannot wait, but in the meantime the editing must be a painful practice for the Editor. Once while praying I was overwhelmed by the sin in which the world is ensconced but also by which I was at the time overtaken. At a loss for words as I was praying, I asked God, “How do you put up with us?” Yet he somehow does. Thank you, Jeffrey, for the wonderful sonnet!
Thank you all so very much! As poets yourselves, you know well the thrill when something you’ve written touches others deeply. Thank you for giving me that thrill. The extended metaphor was born of a sense that my own “book” was getting rather dog-eared but there was a Dear Reader out there who still just couldn’t put it down. God bless you all, and thanks again. Jeffrey
Yes, and thank goodness for the optimism of your last line, Jeffrey. Some of us make a life’s work of obscuring His”early notes”….