The Poet's Incense
O Barren age of scientism, devaluing the merit of ancient verse, as though an account well-given is worthy of a lesser purse. Cheated is the heart whose mind is given to this modern folly, of the treasure trove of meaning which libraries once embodied.
The Spirit groaned inside the Saints, their plaintiff wailing incense. How then are we to say their poured-out verse takes undue license? Was prophecy not magnified whenever David handled his lyre? The Psalms rhymed in meaning, which time would prove inspired.
As poetry was so gladly spoken at this world’s beginning, so to the music of the spheres has ever since been ringing. This chorus will continue, when all things are made new, for blessing God with praise is the height of what poets do.
I once bore witness to a pseudo-academic engaged in a conversation with an evangelical Christian about the trustworthiness of scripture. In learning that the Bible contained a significant amount of poetic writings, I could see his countenance change, ready to pounce upon a perceived gotcha moment. To be fair, many modern English-speaking readers may not recognize ancient poetry when they first see it, as it is often obscured by translation. And to my understanding, the Genesis account is something akin to high-prose, containing poetic elements but not being pure poetry either. That said, this high-browed secular thought he had gained the upper-ground, confident that poetry must always represent something less than true.
It should go without saying that one proves themselves stubborn and unteachable when they casually dismiss any and all recorded phenomena (either ancient or contemporary) as a work of pure fiction. In that, scientific dogmas have resulted in a culture of scientism, one that is far too quick to relegate anything poetic to the trash bin of allegory.
It was that brand of modern arrogance which inspired the verse above.
By the way, have you read Frog of Arcadia?
