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 Mary Magdalen and I

 

 

 

 

The seven unclean spirits of Mary Magdelen

Chased from her by the Teacher with his prayer

Hover in the air in a bat-like flight,

While she, with one leg folded in,

Another bent at the knee, sits staring hard

At her toe and the thong of her sandal

As if she had just noticed such an odd thing.

Her chestnut-brown hair curls in rings

And covers her back, strong, almost virile,

Resting on her shoulder, on a dark-blue dress

Under which her nakedness phosphoresces.

The face is heavyish, the neck harboring

A voice that is low, husky, as if hoarse.

But she will say nothing. Forever inbetween

The element of flesh and the element

Of hope, she stays still. At the canvas's corner

The name of the painter who desired her.

      

Berkeley, 1985


 

                               —Czeslaw Milosz (1911-2004)


           from Selected poems, 1931-2004 (2006)

           (HarperCollins)

 

 

 

COMMENTARY

“There is no In-Between other than the metaxy experienced in man’s existential tension toward the divine Ground of being; there is no question of life and death other than the question aroused by pull and counterpull; there is no Saving Tale other than the tale of the divine pull to be followed by man; and there is no cognitive articulation of existence other than the noetic consciousness in which the movement becomes luminous to itself.” Eric Voegelin, “The Gospel and Culture,” in Published Essays, 1966-1985, 187.

 

 

 

 

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