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Religious Consolation
by John Updike
One size fits all. The shape or coloration
of the god or high heaven matters less
than that there is one, somehow, somewhere, hearing
the hasty prayer and chalking up the mite
the widow brings to the temple. A child
alone with horrid verities cries out
for there to be a limit, a warm wall
whose stones give back an answer, however faint.
Strange, the extravagance of it—who needs
those eighteen-armed black Kalis, those musty saints
whose bones and bleeding wounds appall good taste,
those joss sticks, houris, gilded Buddhas, books
Moroni etched in tedious detail?
We do; we need more worlds. This one will fail.
"Religious Consolation" by John Updike from Americana and Other Poems. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2001. Reprinted with permission at www.writersalmanac.com
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Religious Consolation by John Updike
#1
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Posted 2008-June-08, 05:17
If you lose all hope, you can always find it again -- Richard Ford in The Sportswriter
#2
- Group: Advanced Members
- Posts: 11,222
- Joined: 2004-September-22
- Location:Northern Maryland
Posted 2008-June-08, 18:40
y66, on Jun 8 2008, 06:17 AM, said:
Religious Consolation
by John Updike
One size fits all. The shape or coloration
of the god or high heaven matters less
than that there is one, somehow, somewhere, hearing
the hasty prayer and chalking up the mite
the widow brings to the temple. A child
alone with horrid verities cries out
for there to be a limit, a warm wall
whose stones give back an answer, however faint.
Strange, the extravagance of it—who needs
those eighteen-armed black Kalis, those musty saints
whose bones and bleeding wounds appall good taste,
those joss sticks, houris, gilded Buddhas, books
Moroni etched in tedious detail?
We do; we need more worlds. This one will fail.
"Religious Consolation" by John Updike from Americana and Other Poems. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2001. Reprinted with permission at www.writersalmanac.com
by John Updike
One size fits all. The shape or coloration
of the god or high heaven matters less
than that there is one, somehow, somewhere, hearing
the hasty prayer and chalking up the mite
the widow brings to the temple. A child
alone with horrid verities cries out
for there to be a limit, a warm wall
whose stones give back an answer, however faint.
Strange, the extravagance of it—who needs
those eighteen-armed black Kalis, those musty saints
whose bones and bleeding wounds appall good taste,
those joss sticks, houris, gilded Buddhas, books
Moroni etched in tedious detail?
We do; we need more worlds. This one will fail.
"Religious Consolation" by John Updike from Americana and Other Poems. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2001. Reprinted with permission at www.writersalmanac.com
"We do; we need more worlds. This one will fail."
If I correctly remember my ee cummings: Come, there's a Hell of a good universe next door, let's go.
Ken
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