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Karl Barth Platz
1999
Perhaps we walked the same worn cobblestones,
Between the same sheer walls, shops clean and trim,
Down the same pathways, past the same old homes,
And were startled alike by graffiti sneaking in;
And gazed, from heights, at Alps presiding higher
Than the tallest smokestack, the loftiest church spire.
I’d come to see what Basel’s burghers had done
For their most famously God-fearing son—
Who’d preached of God as Wholly Other to us,
That in His Glory’s light we are but dust,
And how to transcend eros through agape,
And finding greatness in humility—
Expecting a school, a museum, maybe a church,
A grand library with his life’s research.
I found the church where he’d preached: Squeaks and coughs
Made restless echoes in the chancel’s held breath;
Its stained-glass angels wafted in dust aloft,
Awaiting the memorial since his death—
And nothing else but emptiness so severe
It showed how near is God to mortal fear.
The tourist office girl’s delighted cry
Of “Karli Bart!” foretold of something to find.
No school or statue: Instead? A square, a platz,
Where I stepped off the bus into neat-trimmed grass,
Some square-set rows of splashy-colored flowers,
Blond boxy buildings, a middling-tall clock tower.
Far from downtown, too small to be a park,
With nothing there—that I could see—to mark
The name in bold they’d printed on the map
Except the sign, Karl Barth Platz, above the stop.
A humble strip of growth, and that was it.
A break in blank concrete. How well it fit.
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Infinitive Proof
An Active Verb
As an “is not” can only desist
By first existing as an “is” that can persist,
so The First must insist on owning His is,
and thus show proof none honest resist.
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Adam Wasem is a writer living in Chicago.
When I was a graduate student in literature, with a friend in divinity, we decided to meet weekly and discuss Barth’s commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, because it was the most famous book of the most influential 20th-century theologian. All I remember is our happy conclusion, “We got through it.” That Bauhaus-style building behind the platz gives me the same feeling of wanting to get out as soon as the lease is up. Your poem, Adam, offers a contrast befitting the human imagination. Even the same old shops and houses and the dusty church and lively tourist office girl provide a sense of how much more there is to interest God and man!
I can see how Barth would be daunting to graduate students. He’s still daunting to me as a middle-aged man. And probably daunting to just about everybody–I had a very illuminating experience reading one of his books. I picked up a volume of his printed in the late 1910s in the late 90s or early 00s–so some seventy-odd years later. I got to the middle and realized the pages had never been cut: In 70 years the book had never been read even halfway through. Some of his later, shorter books are much more accessible than, for example, the Kirchliche Dogmatik, which, I am embarrassed to say I have not read. “Prayer” is a good, short, but terrific book–a great place to start.
And I am pleased to read that the human elements of the poem are speaking to you, as it befits the moral I was trying to convey–the primacy of the alive and green and growing over the blank concrete monumental. And you should thank whoever finds the accompanying illustrations for these poems for the Bauhaus building–is it Evan? They’re always so apt and inviting and humorous, whoever it is should do book covers. I’ll take theirs over Chip Kidd’s any day.
A perfect follow-up to Evan Mantyk’s review of Michael Curtis’ latest
book of poetry. Enjoyed reading the excellent poetic commentary.
Thank you.
A follow-up that was none of my doing, be assured: Thank the editors for ensuring the themes dovetail here. But you’re very welcome for the commentary.
Adam, this is a very fine poem which succeeds admirably in the difficult task of being evocative of a locale which, from your description and the photograph, is itself not particularly evocative. (Other than the Alps themselves, sanitized, neutral Switzerland has never quite grabbed me.) You use this unremarkable location to great metaphoric effect in describing Barth, his work, his reputation. I confess to having no awareness of Karl Barth and so I looked him up. I can see that he and I are not exactly kindred theological spirits, but I can also see why he is respected enough to have a plaza named after him — minus the statue. While I’m tempted to read more about him, from your comment and Margaret’s it sounds like it might not be the most inspirational experience. I will content myself with your enjoyable poem.
Thank you for your compliments. I found that the drama of the personal spiritual journey succeeded in imbuing the extraordinary into the ordinary, so to speak, in this case, and I’m gratified you feel I’ve succeeded.
But in reading your comment I fear I’ve put you off Barth and Switzerland in general. Don’t misunderstand me, by “daunting” I mean daunting to my spiritual poverty at the time (and probably still). Reading Barth remains the most inspirational Christian experience of my life. Immersion in his work was like a continuous “mountaintop moment,” to use an Evangelical phrase, in its power and penetration and clarity. But being transported to the mountaintop by having all one’s rudimentary Christian understanding crystallized and clarified and one’s pathetic ignorance of God laid bare is a humbling experience, and can induce a little vertigo in the unprepared.
And don’t let me put you off Basel either. No doubt I am biased, owing to my own ancient Swiss-German roots, but Basel is a delight, especially if you like museums–the city is chock-full of them. ArtBasel is the most internationally famous, but there’s all sorts of quirky museums, including a pharmacy museum, a dollhouse museum, a Cartoon museum, and even a Paper, Writing and Printing museum. If I recall correctly there was even a Firefighting museum when I was there.
Fear not, Adam! Since writing my comment I’ve done some more research on Barth and found much to admire. What you describe (to paraphrase) about finding the remarkable within the ordinary works beautifully in your poem and I’m inspired by the inspiration you yourself received. And no offense intended on Switzerland. I’ve only been to Rorschach on the Bodensee (which was enchanting) and Zurich. Yes, it was squeaky-clean but admittedly lovely. With a Rhine River cruise in my future I’ll make a point of visiting Basel.