O Hope Deferred, Hope Still (Or, What Happens When You Read Poetry Instead of Poetry Criticism)

Sunset at Kitsilano Beach, Vancouver, British Columbia
photo by my lovely friend Holly Popenia

I was recently in my local public library specifically to look for a book of poetry criticism by the literary critic and social theorist, Camille Paglia. (OK, so I do spend some time trying to make an honest-to-goodness intellectual of myself...when nothing good is on TV.) Unfortunately, my local library had a shameful dearth of resources. No Camille Paglia at all.

So, I decided that instead of reading poetry criticism, I would actually read poetry. In the electronic card catalogue, I did a search for one of my earthy, brave poet favorites: Sharon Olds.

They had not a single book by her! I was appalled.

Next I looked up a master of poetic sounds, W.S. Merwin. Again -- nothing.

Then I tried Li-Young Lee. I was happy -- relieved, even -- that the single volume of his poetry that the library owned (Lee's luscious "The City in Which I Loved You") was actually checked out. I felt so glad to know that someone within the two-county radius was perhaps reading Li-Young Lee's work at that very moment -- and I felt such a kinship with this unknown soul.

There were two entries for work by W.H. Auden. I decided just to go look up the Auden, and perhaps cherry-pick from the surrounding shelves of poetry -- see what it is they DO have instead of frustrating myself by entering more futile catalogue queries.

And I discovered a little gem.

Christina Rossetti: Selected Poems.

This small volume has been a companionable read over the last week or two. As we move into the season of Advent, during which we remember that we wait, as the ancients waited, for the fulfillment of our Hopes. Perhaps this poem will keep you company, as it has me, as we wait with full hearts and unclear vision.

All Heaven is Blazing.


All heaven is blazing yet
With the meridian sun:
Make haste, unshadowing sun, make haste to set;
O lifeless life, have done.
I choose what once I chose;
What once I willed, I will:
Only the heart its own bereavement knows;
O clamorous heart, lie still.

That which I chose, I choose;
That which I willed, I will;
That which I once refused, I still refuse:
O hope deferred, be still.
That which I chose and choose
And will is Jesus' will:
He hath not lost his life who seems to lose:
O hope deferred, hope still.