Curate contemplations

Just read this quote on the ever-stimulating Brain Pickings blog( www.brainpickings.org/2016/04/26/the-joy-of-swimming-lisa-congdon /):  “As you swim you are washed of all the excrescences of so-called civilization, which includes the incapacity to be happy under any circumstances.” (Anaïs Nin)  Man, I need to get back in the pool! A poem will suffice till then: Lane Swimming The Victorians kept frogs in poolside tubs as exemplars of sharp kicks and a certain poise atop the water, and still at my local club an amphibious gait’s the stroke of choice, where swim-caps drift in lines like orange buoys, except for one whose feet erupt with spray: a Chinese student makes his way. Backstrokers lead the non-conformist set, along with one who wreathes her hair in a Sainsbury’s bag to stop it getting wet. Eyes cloistered in goggles feel safe to stare at these, and at a shape emerging for air, a tadpole wriggling, its tail newly splayed: a Chinese student makes his way.

I wrote the piece below for an event in Winchester which celebrated the 900 year anniversary of Hyde Abbey. The background image to this blog is taken from an ancient manuscript found in the abbey. It depicts the resurrected Christ and Mary Magdalene at the tomb and bears the inscription ‘Noli me tangere’ (‘Do not cling to me’ in Latin, the words John’s gospel attribute to Jesus). But the scripture doesn’t speak of Mary ever touching him – is Jesus warning her not to, or does the text leave their embrace out? What else is missing from the passage? It is written using a medieval alliterative form…. Noli me tangere Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to me…”                                                   John 20:17 The pair are pale as paper, their eyes like the empty tomb, his spotted hand speculates hers barely reaching from her breast, fingers fluttering up to his, all making for so sedate a scene as if the clawing nails, the clamping arms, at his waist the

The Telegraph published an old article of mine this week, following the debate about whether the Church of England’s official liturgy should include female references to God. In fact, it’s a discussion which has been going on for decades, as this fascinating blog post by Rachel Mann explains, but it has been re-enlivened this week. My article ( here ) makes the point that in all the Abrahamic faiths God is understood to transcend gender, despite the fact that historically we have always used male pronouns. ' For he is not a man, as I am.' (Job: 9.32)   A friend and theology student recently shared with me the idea that using gendered language for God is the same as using any metaphor (just like rock or lion or lamb) - of course it's not meant to be read literally. The idea of gender as a  metaphor for God appealed to me, speaking of God’s ultimate otherness – we are just grasping at who she is through linguistic techniques. But we also need to be cautious

This recent article I wrote for the Church Times was absolutely fascinating to research:  http://www.churchtimes.co.uk/articles/2013/4-october/features/features/the-battle-hymns-of-the-public . To read some powerful poetry about gospel-inspired social justice, take a look at the only surviving copy of the National Chartist Hymn book:  http://www.calderdale.gov.uk/wtw/search/controlservlet?PageId=Detail&DocId=102253

Here are the last few tweet-poems from my river-swimming jaunts in July which I forgot to post at the time... 15 July My neighbour joins (a fellow mum), our children stranded inside, The current pulses against pale thighs: we are re-entering our lives. 16 July I wait for the sun, counting down to one, feeling resistant, Once in I can barely swim, the river churns and thumps - equally incalcitrant. 17 July A man eyed me from the bank, dangling his flaccid limbs in the stream, His stares diminished by the undulating phalanx flowing in between.

I have (so far) followed through on my commitment to swim daily in the river and let each swim provoke a few lines of 'tweetable' poetry. Here are the results of the last 2 days: 11 July  A swan with cygnets hissed, I gave space, ‘You bring your unnatural ways,’ it said, ‘Now we eat your bread, But leave the children of this place.’ 12 July A mistimed dive meant I got a nose-full, All the green and rock and root the river had rubbed against Dripped sweet on to my tongue. Follow @JemimaCThackray