April is National Poetry
Month
Recently, in one of my writing groups, someone issued a bit of a challenge. We were asked to
consider the influence of a poet who has
had a lasting effect on us?
The question is:
What
poem inspired me?
I thought about it for some time. How can I even begin to single out one? I
have been thinking about this for awhile, since the beginning of National Poetry
Month. I would think of one poet, or one poem, and would say to myself, “this
one is it!” But something was not quite right, so I would continue to
contemplate the many writers I have
loved over the years. I taught a wide
assortment of poetry courses over my
years as an English Professor – how to choose which one is the most influential
to me? What poet brought me the core values I have embraced for my entire
lifetime? What poetry answered the questions of life and death, and gave me a
world view that is lasting beyond the trends and fashions of the changing
times?
Was it in my own college years that I found that special
one? Robert Bly took me on journeys to ancient times, as we walked together
through snowy fields; I thrilled to the language of the 16th century poets and
wrote papers on romance and death through the eyes of John Donne.
I looked back to my high school years - the Beats were
living and breathing inside my thoughts and actions. I still love them, and I
learned so much about life from them - things that still thrill me today as I
look back.
No, move back further - what about the poetry of grade
school years? Joyce Kilmer's poem "Trees." He gave me a life-long appreciation
of nature and the universe and my place in it. And, the wonderful stories that
were read to me by Mrs. Mathews, in her story time breaks at the North Star
School.
My summertime reading - came to me. My mother would
take me to the local public library where I would collect an arm full of books to
bring home. Oh, the smell of them! The feel of them in my hands! Heaven on
earth. Just me and a book, on the old front porch - reading through the summer
afternoons there on the glider. Walter Farley and Louisa May Alcott -
took me to a world of wonder and delight. I cried along
with the tragedies of "Black Beauty" and I walked along with the children and
had tea parties "Under the Lilacs" of Louisa May Alcott's imagination.
Authors and books stay with us forever. In the final
quarter of my life, they are still there, alive and thrilling. My memories
abound with the people, places, and life lessons I have learned from all those
writers and poets.
Finally, last
night, in a conversation with another writer it came to me – in an instant, I
knew for sure the one key source of my
own writing, from a very early age.
My source is an ancient one –
the Psalms of the Bible.
King David
was my earliest source
of creative writing, and I would always connect poetry with
singing.
I would have heard them read in church from the time
before I could speak. The various Psalms have been at the core of my
life.
When my younger brother was dying on New Year’s Eve our
entire family was there surrounding him in his home as he lay unconscious. My brother departed from this world at dawn
on the first day of 2007. We said the 23rd Psalm to him
while he was in his final minutes that night.
Three months later, my sister, youngest brother and I were tending to our
Mother as she was beginning her final journey to the next world, I sat beside
her with my Bible and I began to read her a number of Psalms because I knew
those words would bring her comfort and peace. I sang to her, and I read to her
that afternoon.
Last year, once again, I was with my Aunt Bettie, in a
hospice, watching over her and holding her as she was getting ready to leave
this world. Again, it was the songs of faith, and the Psalms that I shared with
her. This time, my sister Patti was there with me again, as she had been the
other two times. My two granddaughter’s were there, and our little 3 year old
great-granddaughter was there as she gently
slipped away.
For several years, I had been writing my own personal
“Meditations on the Psalms.” It was a
way of worship for me. I would read a Psalm and then keep it in my heart during
the day. Throughout the day, I would jot down notes, little meditations, on that
Psalm. Many of the Meditations were
published by a gallery in New York. They appeared in the gallery newsletters
over several months. I had not thought about them for quite awhile, until I
began working on my writing archives and came across them once
again.
Below is one of
my “Meditations.”
Psalm 138
The link below will take you to a recording of the original source if you want to compare my meditation with the original
that inspired me one day in 1999.
You can listen to this Psalm:
“An Interpretation on Psalm
138”
by
Lynda McKinney Lambert
I am standing here, Lord -
my heart full of praises for
you.
I am sometimes
aware
that the angels of heaven
surround me as I
sing.
In my imagination,
I
stand against a gentle breeze-
still on the mountain
top,
looking at your Holy
Temple.
The sun warms my
face.
How could I
refrain
from singing
today
as
I think about your faithfulness,
and the promises you
keep?
Your trust is
guaranteed.
You know there’s been
days
when I’ve been weak
-
my condition has been
shameful
Yet, you respond to
me
with encouragement and new
dreams.
Wouldn’t every person in this
world
like to hear your voice
today?
Surely they would give you
thanks
because you know them
personally.
They will see that you are
great.
Through the greatest
dangers
we have come hand in
hand.
You cleared the way before us
and quietly rescued
me.
Is it
because you have plans for me?
The vitality of life passes
before
the presence of your glance.
Let this day develop as you
say
and for only one reason -
I am your
creation!
Lynda McKinney Lambert. Copyright 1999.
All Rights Reserved.
