The "O Antiphons"

Many Christians sing these antiphons from December 17- 24:

O Wisdom

O Adonai

O Root of Jesse

O Key of David

O Radiant Dawn

O Ruler of All Nations

O Emmanuel

and these images show up in all kinds of artwork:

I especially like this one:  Christ, the Geometer

But a number of years ago, I wrote my own set. I've posted them other years, and here they are again:

“O” Antiphons

1

O Magritte sky

over the dead college,

over the government installation

between snowstorms at sunset,

classroom buildings black shoulders

trees creaking butlers in high relief,

bring me an illusion of reprieve.

2

O key of Rilke

where you wait for me

in the pages of the love poems,

O key of C, solid, predictable, yet sliding into

the key of see, often blurry, often double,

barely a quay of sea for me,

tenuous, untethered ,

loose on the wide ocean

of your mercy,

mer

si

merci.

3

O seal of our yearning

glued on the long blue envelope

of sky,

Ciel of our yearning,

grey, mushy today in winter rain,

keep the ink of my prayer

from fade or blood.

4

O long night

full cold moon,

draw me like the sea,

draw me like Magritte paints you

peering through the wrought iron tree.

O Duende,

when I sing with you, no one can qualm,

no one can calm,

no one can come dancing to the dark sound

without feeling your pull on their tides.

 

5

O gathering light,

receiving light,

ours, ocelli,

theirs, ommatidia,

Who opens the insects

to navigate the world,

finally, late this year, in

mid-November, when

strangely green leaves still stand on the pin oak,

on the mild still day,

at last , a ladybug

sails her way to my window screen,

A fly taxis in for a landing

on the lip of my cup.

Their semper cells –

crystalline cones under the eye lens –

always vigilant,

gathering light.

O facets,

oh cell’s eye,

oh my tidings awake,

graciously give me that

faceted

facile receiver!

6

O Route of Jesse

through the desert

of dessert,

foretold by sage

mint and rue, too.

Streets of severance,

tendrils twining on my ankles,

bring me down, holy holly,

bind me, blind me, clutching ivy,

map my angry trip

through the muck of humility.

 

7

O manual, laboring handbook,

gladden the work of our hands.

We wait for peace,

but terror comes instead.

What factory fashioned the

slashing shrapnel?

Emanate

manual light, new elevation,

elicit handmade candles,

bread, bowls,

chairs,

decoys.

Carpenter, potter, baker,

emit manual glory.