Stories of Saint Anthony
Preaching to the Fish
“Proud men have turned away, for they refuse
To listen to you, Master Anthony.”
“I’ll turn instead to shoreline avenues,
And at the seaside preach to Rimini.”
There gathered gobies, dentex, eel, sardines,
Anchovies, mullet, mackerel, tuna, plaice,
Piada and piadina, local queens
Of fish, all turned attentively to face
The land, and heed what human language means.
They took the bait commending gratitude
For God’s great gifts; the fish their thanks renewed,
Then splashed as they received the preacher’s blessing,
While reprobates ashore began confessing.
Postmaster
With prayerful mind and careful pen you glossed
The Psalms, by poetry’s perfection crowned,
And when your commentary had been lost
Through theft, you felt great joy when it was found.
You guide our letters not to go astray.
A lady in Oviedo proved it so:
Her answer came from Lima in one day,
With newly minted coins of golden glow,
Delivered by a friar in your array.
How much more now we need benign protection
For words sent easily without reflection,
Afflicting many who might ache to hear
An unexpected message of good cheer.
Spiritual Direction
Blessed Elena Enselmini (1207–1231) was
a follower of St. Anthony and St. Francis
Come follow, dear child Elena, the call
To grow and flower in calm innocence,
Sweet lily putting into practice all
Wise guidance in the ways of continence.
Nothing on earth is precious as vocation,
The very breath of Jesus speaking near you,
Your veil concealing utmost dedication,
The holy confidence with which I hear you
Tell of superabundant sanctification.
In every wound and sorrow of His Passion
You dwell; His Blessed Sacrament your only ration
For weeks and months. How truly you are wed
To Christ our Guardian, sole living Bread.
“Guardian”: the title of the superior in a Franciscan religious house.
Roman Carnival
Warm winds blew Europe’s pilgrim throngs to Rome;
With Anthony, they knelt at Peter’s throne.
Pope Gregory commissioned him alone
To profit them with wealth of grace full blown.
All nations walked Rome’s Stations of the Cross.
None knew how much the young priest sacrificed
To cleanse participants of dreadful dross;
He bore the pains of others, as did Christ,
And battled to avoid a single loss.
To void their pride, rage, envy, greed and fears,
He gave up half a healthy lifetime’s years
For evildoers trusting to his care,
It seemed, from hundreds of conversions there.
Anthony’s Last Lent
Another church each day! Make all aware.
The Word . . . though demons cough within my chest.
O gloriosa Domina the air
I breathe, and trace the Cross upon my breast.
The sermon and absolving sacrament
Are one: smut smelled and scrapped, a fresh new start.
Disrupt and cudgel disillusionment,
Lament the love for filth with fasting heart,
And visibly build up a Church content.
Religion, one God-given golden clasp,
Joins inner world and outer in its grasp.
No seasons more! All time for Christ is now.
Come work His field: plow, fertilize, learn how.
Poet’s Note: For friends of Saint Anthony of Padua, thirteen has become a lucky number since his death on June 13, 1231. The Antonian sonnet form created in his honor features 13 lines with rhyme scheme abab cdcdc eeff. It may try to follow the saint’s preaching style of multiple disparate images in quick succession. O gloriosa Domina, addressed to his glorious lady, the Blessed Virgin Mary, is his favorite song. The renowned preacher used its music, with the Sign of the Cross, to relieve his fatal struggles with lung disorder. At the age of 36, having recited the seven penitential Psalms, he died Friday evening, June 13, 1231.
Margaret Coats lives in California. She holds a Ph.D. in English and American Literature and Language from Harvard University. She has retired from a career of teaching literature, languages, and writing that included considerable work in homeschooling for her own family and others.
You have been busy, Margaret. All of these poems bear re-reading (which I have done once already), especially for a Catholic. I never knew he had such a short life. In fact, I didn’t know much about him and thanks to your poems will make it a point to learn more. All of these poems grow more beautiful with re-reading.
Thank you, jd. I was more than halfway through life before I met Anthony. His own short life seems to have been spent to the full. Glad you will learn more of him. Thanks doubly for speaking of the beauty in these poems; makes me feel that I’ve given Anthony as their subject a worthy gift!
Margaret C.,
Your works here exemplify your dedication. I especially like, in the last poem, your suggestion that religion is a “clasp”.
from Margaret B.
Thanks, Margaret B. When I was writing that poem, I had recently read an account of the final stage in Anthony’s life. It recorded many of his own words (he was a famous figure by then), and I believe “religion as a golden clasp” comes from the saint himself. I’m happy it caught your notice!
Anything with a Franciscan theme grabs me instantly, and I admire all these pieces, Margaret. But I’m particularly struck by “Anthony’s Last Lent” with its contemporary relevance. (And “demons cough within my chest” is inspired.) Thank you.
Thank you, Martin! That Lent of 1231 in Padua had more contemporary relevance than I could show. Anthony not only brought about moral reform, but got warring rivals to make peace, and creditors to agree that the city could end imprisonment for debt. I have to refer to all that as building “content” out of “disillusionment.” Appreciate your noticing words describing the preacher’s physical sufferings.
All five poems are very beautiful; nonetheless I like most the first one. It speaks of St. Anthony’s zeal to preach the Word despite people’s indifference; very inspiring indeed!
Yes, Joni, indifference can be a daunting challenge. I don’t recall that you’ve dealt with it yet in your articles, but let me know if I’ve missed one. Saint Anthony took a creative, roundabout approach, with both equanimity and charity, as well as that inspiring zeal you admire.
Margaret, I have always considered the number 13 to be my lucky number, as well. I did not realize anyone else did so. These are intriguing poems that once again display your intellectual prowess and attention to detail like naming such an obscure array of fish.
Yes, Roy, did you notice that Saint Anthony died on Friday the 13th? And presumably entered heaven immediately, as he was officially declared a saint less than a year later. Thank you for noticing the kinds of fish! In the standard story, those fish behave in an orderly manner, the larger ones in the rear allowing smaller fish to be in front. That means there were varied species. All I needed to do was find out what kinds are fished in and around Rimini. Discovered that the prime delicacy at Rimini fish restaurants is the large piada, while the similar but smaller piadina show up at every street food stand along with french fries!
Thanks, Margaret, for this beautiful revisitation of St. Anthony’s remarkable life. SCP sparkles with reverential poetry, especially yours. I loved the depiction of the aquatic congregation who …
Then splashed as they received the preacher’s blessing,
While reprobates ashore began confessing.
Jesus testified that a prophet has no honor in his own country. Marcus Aurelius posited that we all love ourselves more than others, but we value others’ opinions more than our own.
I do value yours, David. Thank you for reading these pieces and selecting favored lines. Thanks as well for your general appreciation of the site and of my works. As I think anyone here would say, your comment is still welcome on any poem you particularly liked, though it may have been posted some time ago!
Margaret, “Preaching to the Fish” is a marvelous poem. It’s witty and sunny–and the latter quality is especially to be prized in this lugubrious world. The catalogue of fishes is not a dry list, but a delight in itself. (It reminds me somehow of the list of names of attendees at one of Gatsby’s parties in The Great Gatsby–zany and funny.) Also, there is some charming phraseology: “They took the bait commending gratitude….” I’m easily pleased by phraseology. Thanks for your good humor delivered with skill.
I’m so glad you liked the wit and sunniness and good-humored words, Bhikku Nyanasobhano. I always appreciate your special care in commenting.
Thank you for these touching and inspiring devotional poems. Saint Anthony is a particularly favorite of mine, both as a family saint and when I lose things, which is often. I found your exposition and use of the Antonian sonnet particularly enlightening. Your pastiche of scenes from the saint’s life was inspiring and edifying.
Glad to treat one of your favorites, Adam. And thank you for remarking on the Antonian sonnet form. I hardly knew what I was doing with it. Turns out, the lack of one line from the usual fourteen-line sonnet makes a world of difference in the amount a poet can say. And there’s a particular challenge to end with TWO rhymed couplets–not a feature of any other kind of sonnet except the couplet sonnet of seven rhymed couplets in a row. I’ve collected quite a number of those from the 17th century onward, and the poets don’t seem to have the difficulty I felt here (maybe because of the final four lines set off as a concluding quatrain). Appreciate your input!
Being a great fan of fables, I especially enjoyed fable aspect to St. Anthony preaching to the fish.
It’s always sad when someone dies young, but we can always take comfort in their legacy and the good memories they left behind.
Thanks for the reads.
Paul, I’m very happy you notice and mention the fable genre in “Preaching to the Fish.” Aesop gives us the classic animal fables that usually convey a moral lesson to readers from animal behavior. In the animal fables concerning saints, the idea is usually that saintly holiness can restore the natural goodness of relationships between human beings and animals. Men are supposed to exercise a beneficial mastery over animals; I had first called Anthony “master of creatures” in this sonnet, but changed the wording. In the saint-with-animal fables, the lesson is conveyed to human observers–those “reprobates” who wouldn’t listen to the saint, but who are amazed by his power to get the attention of the animals, and therefore benefit from his preaching after all.
Other examples of this saintly kind of fable: Francis of Assisi preaching to the birds, the great scholar Jerome helping an injured lion who becomes his pet, Hubert who does not kill a stag he was hunting, Martin de Porres who feeds mice, and late as the 19th century, John Bosco with his dog Grigio.
What a nice compilation of poems regarding St. Anthony. It brought to me many elements of his life of which I was not aware. I always think of St. Anthony when something goes missing and he’s come through for me many times! Some in inexplicable ways!
For me too, Laura! Thanks for your comment, and this seems to be the place to quote the best known couplet rather familiarly addressing Saint Anthony:
Tony, Tony, come around;
Something’s lost that must be found!
Margaret, there is such a reverence of devotion and tenderness of heart in your writings in such a way that the spirituality inherent in them transcends religious and denominational boundaries, while remaining very much works of Catholic devotion. I am always touched by your sincerity of faith and both the beauty you engender and the skill that you utilize to express it. The name “Anthony” is very special to me because it is the name of my only son, who was in turn named after his father and Italian grandfather. I am particularly fond of the lines “smut smelled and scrapped, a fresh new start./Disrupt and cudgel disillusionment,/Lament the love for filth with fasting heart,”– Thank you for giving me a deeper appreciation of my son’s namesake, Margaret!!
Theresa, no words can express my gratitude for your comment. Please be assured it is felt deep in my heart. I am glad for this great saint’s sake that you came to know him a little better in these poems. He has been a friend to many during and after his brief lifetime. I’ve marveled at the works that still go on in his basilica at Padua. His name among so many men, especially of Italian heritage, attests to more. My son as well as yours bears it, though mine chose to add it at confirmation to his family names. That must make establish some kind of relation between the two of us!
Thank you for sharing these. I have to admit, much of the historical and spiritual depth was beyond my immediate understanding at first, but that became part of the gift of reading them. They made me slow down, reread, and want to learn more about Saint Anthony and the stories behind each poem.
What stayed with me most was how each poem made him feel alive, human, and relevant—not like a distant saint, but someone teaching, suffering, guiding, and serving. I was struck by the different dimensions of spiritual life that came through: listening, speaking carefully, sacrifice, devotion, and perseverance.
“Preaching to the Fish” stood out for its vivid imagery and the humbling truth beneath it—that sometimes creation seems more open and receptive than people are. “Postmaster” felt especially timely in its reflection on how words can so easily go astray or wound, but can also carry kindness and grace.
What especially moved me was the contrast between “Spiritual Direction” and “Roman Carnival.” One felt inward and hidden, centered in devotion and vocation; the other outward and sacrificial, carrying the burden of serving others. Together they felt like two halves of holiness: the hidden root and the visible fruit.
And “Anthony’s Last Lent” moved me most. His physical suffering, paired with his continued preaching and service, made his holiness feel deeply human. It left me with the sense that holiness is not an escape from the body, but a fidelity within it.
Taken together, these poems felt like windows into a holy life that is embodied, costly, and real. I learned a great deal simply by sitting with them. Thank you for that.
Thank you, Nicole, for taking time to sit with these poems, and for making your always special effort to comment on them with significance. I love learning what they mean to each reader. Even more comes out of good poetry than goes into it, I believe. Holy men are classical heroes, human as the rest of us, but capable of wonders among humanity. I’m glad to have been able to convey a little of the human heroism of Anthony of Padua and Lisbon.
Thank you Dr. Coats, for honoring the Doctor of the Assumption with faithful adherence to our devotion to the number 13 and many aspects of devotion to St. Anthony that deftly transcend the finder of lost things. Clever allusions to correspondence that was stolen but recovered. His patronage of wise and prudent and charitable discourse, his protecting us sending rash messages, careless emails, hurtful texts,impulsive online comments. And his last days calling us to conversion. Beautiful synthesis of all these elements and more. I thank thee.
Thank you so very much, Ken. I sincerely hope you will see more of these elsewhere, at least thirteen in all. As you note, Anthony’s saintly guidance extends in time, from his traditional finding of lost objects and protection of mail, to concern modes of communication unknown when he lived here below. The famous Responsory poem of Padua praises her patron for prosperity of every sort.
“And when your commentary had been lost
Through theft, you felt great joy when it was found.”
This raises an interesting philosophical question about whether we would continue to find writing worthwhile if the final product were to be permanently lost or destroyed upon completion. My own answer would be yes, since there is always the audience of the writer, for whom the work had been cathartic or yielded some kind of insight.
It would be an interesting thought experiment to ask ourselves both whether and what we would continue to write if we were never to have an audience for our work. Interesting because it confronts us with the question of why we write and demands the most honest of answers.
Well, let’s start with some honesty.
The vast bulk of human writing, in almost every culture on earth, has been destroyed or lost — very much in the same way that 95% of all previously existing species of animals have gone extinct in the millions of years that life has existed and evolved here on earth. We have only a small slice of ancient Greek and Roman texts, only parts of the early Sanskrit texts, and a bare fraction of the Persian texts preserved by the Parsees in India. The Chinese did their best to preserve their classic writings, but the idiocy of certain emperors and warlords destroyed many of them.
Anything written on parchment, papyrus, paper, leather, wood, birch bark, or stone is vulnerable to the same forces that threaten any material object. Constant recopying and reprinting, and preservation of written texts in libraries and archives, and today in various digitalized formats, are the best we can hope for.
OK, now apply that truth to the work of anyone who writes a poem. The chance of its survival is slight, unless the poem happens to become famous, or its author manages to achieve celebrity, or if the author’s work as a whole becomes a standard “canonical” text for the schoolroom or the university lecture halls. Even in those exceptional cases, it is a good chance that the saved material will be forgotten on dusty shelves if the writer loses prestige or reputation, or if his style of composition ceases to be popular, or if tenured academics don’t bother to comment on his work. Even top-notch writers like Catullus and the Gawain Poet survived by the skin of their teeth, in one lonely manuscript that just managed by chance to not be discarded like garbage.
These are terrible and discouraging facts to face, but we should cling to one life-raft. If we have composed a poem to the best of our ability, guided by traditional cultural standards and by our loyalty to linguistic perfection, we have done our job. AUDIENCE REACTION DOES NOT MATTER. And trying to twist and manipulate a poem in such a way as to satisfy an audience is a betrayal of your art. Besides, remember this: You as a poet have no control whatsoever over who your audience will be, either now or ten centuries from now. They are total strangers to you.
Why do we write, then? Simple — to please ourselves, and to satisfy the demands of our interior audience, which is composed of those long-dead writers whom we have loved and honored, the teachers who have guided us in the realms of invention and composition, the aesthetic principles and standards that we hold dear, and the ideal of literary perfection that we have as a criterion for judging ourselves as artists.
That’s it.
Thank you, Daniel, for reading, commenting, questioning, and proposing a gedanken experiment. While I am not prepared to give the most honest of answers at present, you remind me that I lost a commentary on one Hebrew psalm years ago. I had written it, as you can easily imagine, for graduate course credit. It gave scholarly experience and insight I still value, as well as a tiny semblance to Saint Anthony. More and better to come, I hope, for an audience including yourself. I’m glad you too give the “yes” answer to that question on continuing to write, with hopes for appreciation rather than loss.
Welcome, Joseph. I’ll allow Daniel Howard opportunity to respond to you in the honest inquiry he started, by leaving that space for him. You’ve seen one of these Anthony stories when I first invented the form, but not the one in question. The saint’s loss may have blocked resonance of his own work, but also of the original text he probably had copied with considerable care. A double reason for joy at its restoration, though one can’t answer for his purpose in commenting on the Psalms. Even in his time 800 years ago, there was undoubtedly considerable commentary in existence. But being the great preacher he was, he may have had multiple purposes of self-edification, and of collecting both ideas and material for teaching. All might have suffered but not been rendered empty by loss of the manuscript.
Margaret,
Once again, a most beautiful series of rich and colorful descriptions of the memorable events in the life of St. Anthony of Padua. I like to reflect on the fact that St Anthony preached in the same city where the premier educational institution of the time existed.
You’re right, Gary. Bologna may have been great for law study, but Padua could compete all round, especially in medicine and philosophy. There must be material for an Antonian academic sonnet here! Thanks so much for coming by to read and comment.