On Sept. 23, 2023 I posted the first impressions of a poem that was emerging thru my mind. The poem didn’t even have a name at the time, but I knew it was a powerful energy that would compel me for a long while. Since then I’ve been working assiduously on it, letting it speak, letting it rearrange my thinking, letting it come alive. It now has a name, maybe not a final name, but a first name: Remembrensenz a Tiemz tu Kum, or in standard (old) English: Remembrances of Times to Come.

It is a poem with at least two focuses:
1. preparing for the journey after death, and
2. attempting to reveal the infinite nature of all things, an infinite nature well-hidden not just by the limitation of our 5 senses and our body-focused thinking, but by language itself.

What follows is a short excerpt, first in my evolving English, and then in old English, that is, the English that people are speaking in this era.

Remembrensenz a Tiemz tu Kum, a frag

Wen I wuz nine I koud fienlee heer
the kwesten that bin asken me:
wy am I in this boddee-shel?

An wen I wuz twennee five I koud heer
the Lor Hem kawlen, ‘hu iz heer?’
an I began an anser, ‘henunnee*’ ………. see Gen. 22:1; Isaiah 6:8
with my broken leeng, awl limmitten krude,
awl mis-derrekten an mis-kunstruez,
awl fragmentes an fule a noiz.
A kors, I didden relize it;
I thot my iyz bin akyuret,
my leeng persise, reflekten tru.

Wen I wuz fortee nine I lern
the Torruh iz but a seengel werd
six hunnert thowzen letterz long.
An me, my werdz ar shatter glas,
three, five, sevven letterz long,
sumtime maybee a fyue mor,
my leeng a meerlee shatter glas.

But a lieftime a riten, shapen a werd,
kunstrukten fraze an parugraf,
bilden grammerz tu ullow mor liets
an ennerjeez tu emmannate,
an awl my rit, life-seel long,
tho porlee spoke an innakyuret,
an wut my ukkomplish?
I am spoke a werd or tu2,
not dissarraed babbel but Godwerd spoeks.

A kawlen respons, a Barrukhu*, ……… * a call to prayer
a breethen owt, a lissen in,
a kawl tu prae, a life-seel long.
A fyue werdbreths I wil breeng with me,
now breth-bown intu my jennek koedz.

And here, the Old English version:

When I was nine I could finally hear
the question that I’d been trying to ask:
why am I in this body-shell?

And when I was tweny five I could hear
the Lor calling, ‘who is hear*?’ …….. * others say: here
and I began an answer, ‘hineni*’…….. * Hebrew for ‘here I am’
with my broken language, all limited and crude,
all misdirected and misconstrued,
all fragmented and full of noise.
Of course, I didn’t realize it;
I thought my eyes were accurate,
my language precise, reflecting truth.

When I was forty nine I learned
the Torah is but a single word
six hundred thousand letters long.
And me, my words are shattered glass,
three, five, seven letters long,
sometimes maybe a few more,
my language merely shattered glass.

But a lifetime of writing, shaping words,
constructing phrases and paragraphs,
building grammars to allow more light
and energy to emanate,
and all my writing, a life-soul long,
tho poorly spoken and inaccurate,
and what have I accomplished?
I have spoken a word or two,
not disarrayed babble but Godward spokes.

A call and response, a Bar’khu*, …….. * literally, ‘we praise’
a breathing out, a listening in,
a call to pray, a life-soul long.
A few word-breaths I will bring with me,
now breath-bound into my genetic code.