poems | 2020 | 74 pages
When we speak of modernism, in form and not in style, what we invariably mean is a progression from the hoary old gods to the god of the looking-glass; that the archaisms of authority, and the divine are simply that. The idea is that geocentrism was part and parcel of The Church's ignorance. The irony, of course, being that modernism must now balance the flaming worlds upon our own heads.
I write this as a reflection on the yearlong product of writing which is collated. Many of the poems here are as much confessions and prayers as they are polemics. The truth is, and this is an awkward truth; that to abandon self as the anchor of the orbit is to by no means become a stray: and this is what The Church has taught all along. In the inversion of Bacchus and Dionysus will we find ourselves complete, whole, and healed. More than that, in the exaltation of the absolute sun, we have light ourselves.
As to the title of this book, there was a song particularly famous a couple of years ago by the same name. I have named this anthology Take Me To Church as a sort of repartee, perhaps quite belated. The song enchants because it understands that germ of truth, that death is the prerequisite of love, or rather, that love is a sort of death: death to self. But as all heresy, the truth was exaggerated into falsehood; the falsehood of "asserting yourself and reclaiming your humanity;" that is, geocentricity. We are all plagued by this modernism, and the sooner we come to realize that it is simply a new philosophy, meaning a very old heresy, the sooner we can seek the salve to which The Church has always pointed: that great and ancient, ineffable Love.
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