GOD, A POEM by James Fenton (b. 1949)

A nasty surprise in a sandwich,
A drawing-pin* caught in your sock,
The limpest of shakes from a hand which
You thought would be firm as a rock.

A serious mistake in a nightie,
A grave disappointment all around
Is all that you'll get from th'Almighty,
Is all that you'll get underground.

Oh he said: "If you lay off the crumpet*
I'll see you alright* in the end.
Just hand on until the last trumpet.
Have faith in me, chum -- I'm your friend."

But if you remind him he'll tell you:
"I'm sorry, I must have been pissed* --
Though your name rings a bell. You
Should have guessed that I do not exist.

"I didn't exist at Creation,
I didn't exist at the Flood,
And I won't be around for Salvation
To sort out the sheep from the cud --

"Or whatever the phrase is. The fact is
In soteriological* terms
I'm a crude existential malpractice
And you are a diet of worms.

"You're a nasty surprise in a sandwich.
You're a drawing-pin caught in my sock.
You're the limpest of shakes from a hand which
I'd had thought would be firm as a rock.

"You're a serious mistake in a nightie,
You're a grave disappointment all around --
And all that you are," says the al'Mighty
"And that's all that you'll be underground."

DRAWING-PIN -- thumb tack; CRUMPET -- British for "girls"; I'LL SEE YOU ALRIGHT -- British for "I'll take care of you"; PISSED -- British slang for "drunk"; SOTERIOLOGICAL -- concerning salvation; MALPRACTICE -- empirical mistake

According to poet Dana Gioia -- "One of Fenton's most refreshing accomplishments has been his nonsense verse....Especially interesting has been his revival of the Audenesque genre of the apocalyptic nonsense poem. This genre typically starts in a brash comic manner but slowly modulates into a nightmare vision...."

I liked the poem you posted, MA. It’s fun to read out loud. Calling someone a “diet of worms” reminds me of Martin Luther. Martin Luther reminds me, among other things, of raging anti-Semiticism. I find that unattractive. He also wrote some good hymns and other things. I don’t mean to offend any Lutherans; they have come to grips with that particular Luther manuscript.

I read Dana Gioia’s piece on Fenton and enjoyed it.

A while back, some of you may have seen it, I wrote a poem, just for fun. I didn’t mean it to be nonsense, but I did intend it as light verse.

Aqiqah

There are many customs for dealing with birth

There are many Muslims upon this good earth

Boy or girl, it’s a welcome occasion

For a welcoming consecration

This takes place seven days after birth

Well, I did a little research and developed a few reservations:

<link>

“The most recommended for the parent or the guardian of the child is to slaughter 2 goats on the occasion of a boy and 1 goat for the birth of a girl”.

This seems to show a devaluation of females.

“In the case for girls, a tiny portion of the the skin on the top most of the vagina (faraj) is cut. (Please note that khitan is far from genital mutilation practiced by some African countries.)”

I don’t feel strongly one way or the other about male circumcision. I’m circumcised, but that was the custom. I do think females should be left alone, when it comes to circumcision.

So, I deleted my verse. I have no ill will toward Muslims. I just felt I needed to do a little more research.

Hi HAP,

Yes, I'm sure Fenton's phrase, "diet of worms," was referring not only to us mouldering in the ground, but also to the conference that tried to ban Luther from making his reforms.

I'm going to use this poem in my course this fall on poetry + religion. Contemporary British poets seem to write harsher poems about religion (think Philip Larkin) than do American poets -- a generalization I'm sure someone will dispute.....

And I agree, HAP, that the poem, like other nonsense verses, is fun to read. Those rhymes, like "sandwich / hand which" or "nightie / Almighty," are deliciously outrageous.

And I hope someone can identify the meter pattern that makes the lines fall trippingly off the tongue....

.

Hi MaryAnn , I have over the years ,written many angry poems about religion, and the people who use it to hurt others, which includes my ancestors who felled upon the shores of the Massachuset.

I have not habitually spoken of my atheism in the poetry department on Slate, because it may be for many here, a difficult thing.

The most important thing for me is just to try and always respect what believers believe, (even though that can remove my patience quickly sometimes.)

The poem that I share with you now , was a kind of break through for me.

For in it, I celebrate the imagination, by calling it the Lord, and I celebrate words too.

( and how Thor ‘got a day’…….lol)

For me ,all religions come from the imagination.

And with the imagination , poets, go on finding………

enjoy if you like.......

Ever before lay low

　

The imagination

Is the unknown

Lord of our always and then some unknown.

Oh vast confined holy place

Oh bye and bye product

Of a man woman child.

There’s no topographical map

Nor gully to the river

By the old oak tree

In the light spring breeze

When we were young.

No compass nor

Yellowing folding map

Across some water

For buried treasure with an ‘x’ on it.

　

What an olde idea

So olde and beautiful that

Aye olde and beautiful that

In olde words in English too

Olde and beautiful English too .

And fore words .

But I repeat myself.

Man.

　

The imagination

Is the unknown

Lord of our always and then some unknown.

Did you know that

God’s a wee bug in amber?

I put a hole in mine amber and I

Wear it around my neck I do

With a soft piece of leather

With a few knots

For good luck on Thursday.

　

The imagination is the only way in.

The imagination

Is the unknown

Lord of our always and then some unknown.

The imagination is the only way out.

All the gods of beauty and war , ever before lay low, lay low.

The imagination

Is the unknown

Lord of our always and then some unknown.

All the gods of beauty and war , ever before lay low, lay low.

　

.

.

© j.l. stix

Hi BBBs,

Your poem brings up the intriguing idea of whether God exists apart from man (the three Abrahamic religions) or exists within man (see, for example, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman, the eastern religions).

And that question leads to the idea of whether poetry can replace prayer, whether some poems ARE prayer...

MaryAnn,

I was an atheist for 42 of my almost 55 years. I know all the arguments on both sides.
Once you've seen the burning bush or felt the presence of the Ruach Hakodesh, once twice monthly migraines and frequent depression are lifted within minutes of praying, the arguments and ridicule of belief becomes a hollow empty shell.

There is no denying that this poem is marvelously crafted. But ultimately there is one undisputed fact: Atheists don't have a prayer!

NS

Mary Ann--

I enjoyed the Fenton poem. The meter is a fairly routine mix of anapests and iambs, examples of which abound:

Shelley--“One word is too often profaned “

Swinburne--“Before the beginning of years”

Poe--”The skies they were ashen and sober”

As devoted to poetry as you are, why have you not acquainted yourself with some of its more technical aspects?

Dear MaryAnn,

having birthed ten children, I can surely attest to being "a serious mistake in a nightie.." After number 6, things just don't resume their former position. "As you were, corporal" doesn't mean a thing.

Beyond that, this Thursday's duck soup of an OPP is a real disappointment. Nice meter and rhyme. Appealing. Sure.

The difference between this and Artemesia's popes-raping-irish-children poem is merely one of craft (and a few less F-words here.) That might mean everything to you, MaryAnn. To me, it demonstrates the small difference between adequately-written blithe contempt and low-grade malevolent contempt.

Your poem brings up the intriguing idea of whether God exists apart from man (the three Abrahamic religions) or exists within man (see, for example, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman, the eastern religions).

if God is not transcendent, if god merely exists in the spirit of man, a la Emerson and Whitman and then I agree with James Fenton: there is no god. but if you look closely at the three Abrahamic religions, MA, you'll discover your musings propose a false dichotomy. there is one amongst them wherein God is transcendent, God is Incarnate and God dwells within man.

monica

The difference between this and Artemesia's popes-raping-irish-children poem is merely one of craft (and a few less F-words here.) That might mean everything to you, MaryAnn. To me, it demonstrates the small difference between adequately-written blithe contempt and low-grade malevolent contempt.

Hi Monica,

Another difference is that this poem by Fenton is in Norton's Anthology of Modern and Contemporary Poetry and Artemesia's is not. It is well crafted. But having said that, none of us is under any obligation to agree with -- or even like -- its ideas.

but if you look closely at the three Abrahamic religions, MA, you'll discover your musings propose a false dichotomy. there is one amongst them wherein God is transcendent, God is Incarnate and God dwells within man.

I'm sure you're right. I definitely gotta learn more about religion before I teach that course this fall.

.

As devoted to poetry as you are, why have you not acquainted yourself with some of its more technical aspects?

　

I hope that you don’t mind me butting in here, or sharing,

but I have been wondering the very same thing lately

about my own approach to poetry.

‘I know what I like when I see it’ ,

has long been for me a phrase -to enjoy or not ,

paintings and sculptures and poems too.

So much of my personal approach is instinctual and organic

that when folks describe how much more I might learn and see,

I begin to really understand the word dumbfounded…………..lol

( ie. to make speechless with amazement; astonish.)

p.s. thanks

.

As devoted to poetry as you are, why have you not acquainted yourself with some of its more technical aspects?

Hi Enginist and BBBs,

Good question. I have several answers. Pick whichever one or more work for you.

I started getting interested in poetry only after I stopped teaching. And I began with a book of modern and contemporary poetry, which places less emphasis on meter and rhyme. But even when I taught ye olde poetry,I never emphasized meter and rhyme because I think that can be a turn-off to most kids. And going way way back, I don't think my college teachers emphasized meter and rhyme either.

I continue to read mostly contemporary poetry.

I've always had a tin ear (I don't hear any difference among Mary - merry - marry), but the last several months, I've been saying out loud all the poems I read at home. My ear has changed to copper, but it's not golden yet.

Rhyme and meter don't interest me that much.

I'm lazy.

I know you guys think I live and breathe this stuff -- but hey, I garden, cook, exercise (occasionally), read non-poetry (gasp), follow politics, pay bills, watch TV, shop, go museum-hopping, etc.

MA

And lest we forget, Anonymous chanting, Lear-like on the heath--"There was an old man from Nantucket...."

I'm surprised folks are getting so knicker-bundled over this silly poem. It's a comical piece, with enough half-limerick rhythm and music-hall dialect and all-around silliness (it's God who claims God doesn't exist, if you notice) to let us know we're to search here for no pretentions of pinhead angel-counting. The dialect should indicate that the voice is not that of the poet, but of some bar-room Alfred Doolittle, 'avin' a larf on 'ya. As GretchenRyan might, or might not, say. I think Marianne Moore can stand a little lightheadedness, but this poem simply won't hold up under a weight of theological turgitude. It's supposed to be fun, for heaven's sake.

falcon, you conclude that the poem is supposed to be fun. I'm not sure. If it were merely a matter of fun, why didn't he stick to the spoon running away with the dish -- or whatever...

Gioia says, "Especially interesting has been his revival of the Audenesque genre of the apocalyptic nonsense poem. This genre typically starts in a brash comic manner but slowly modulates into a nightmare vision...."

I couldn't discover anything about Auden's "apocalyptic nonsense poems," but I do think there is mockery in this poem. Perhaps Fenton is equating belief in God with nonsense. Perhaps he's mocking those who expect a pay-off from God (first half of poem) by revealing the "real" God (second half of poem).

The first time I read the poem (last week), I was astounded, especially since I found the poem in a Norton's. Can someone really say that? The poem is more than just well-crafted. I think it's a poem in which its form perfectly matches its content.