When Poets Pray
By Marilyn McEntyre
Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2019
Reviewed by Jolene Nolte
In When Poets Pray, Marilyn McEntyre offers a companionable compilation of twenty-four poems that are either written as prayers or take prayer as their subject. “’Teach us to pray,’” McEntyre writes, “is a prayer to keep praying.” She observes that the sources from which we learn are not limited to “parents or priests or pastors,” but may include strangers, children – and poets. The book contains poems and reflections on those poems, but in specifying “poets” rather than “poems” in her title and in her introduction, McEntyre puts the accent on poets as fellow pilgrims. The content and manner of poets’ prayers (in their poems) has something to teach us.
McEntyre acknowledges the poems come from the “Western tradition,” but her selection reflects a variety beneath that umbrella. While the majority are from the 20th-21st century, several come from earlier eras, such as an excerpt from Hildegard of Bingen’s Meditations. The selections span a range of perspectives and moods, from the rhythmic and compactly ecstatic “spring song” by Lucille Clifton to the grandly lilting “Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise” by Walter Chalmers Smith.
Many poems are written from the perspective of the one who prays – immediate prayers for concrete needs (an anonymous “Truck Driver’s Prayer by a Young Ghanaian Christian”), prayers arising from observation of Creation (Robert Frost’s “A Prayer in Spring”), prayers of desperation that speak to God in imperatives (SAID’s “Psalm”), prayers that express postures of openness or desires to see others more truly and compassionately (an excerpt from Richard Wilbur’s “The Eye”). Mary Oliver’s “Praying,” however, takes a friendly, pastoral perspective clarifying what prayer can be.
Even in prayer, there is room for humour. “God loves us so much that he can afford to laugh,” McEntyre writes in response to Scott Cairns’ “Possible Answers to Prayer.” Cairns’ poem imagines God’s perspective on us as we pray, and with both humour and incisiveness reminds us, as McEntyre notes, “‘Teach us to pray’ is a prayer that takes courage: it invites God’s scrutiny, judgment, correction, redirection.” Within the same section of poems entitled “Praying,” Marin Sorescu’s whimsical poem “Prayer” widens the territory of prayer covered here to include prayer to the saints.
Michael Chitwood’s tongue-in-cheek “On Being Asked to Pray for a Van” pokes fun at the titular request, and juxtaposes well with the concrete directness of the Anonymous “Truck Driver’s Prayer by a Young Ghanaian Christian,” where a functioning vehicle and safety on the road comprise the speaker’s means of making a living.
Directly following each poem, McEntyre offers a short reflection, ranging from two to five pages. These reflections make the book accessible to those who get to the end of a poem and ask, “Now what?” McEntyre offers her observations as “contemplative exercises,” companionable commentary – they offer some prose handrails for the poetry-wary. For the poetry-savvy, the reflections may serve as conversation-starters: McEntyre’s experience/observations can invite you to consider your own interaction with the poem alongside hers.
Her reflections are the evidence of close reading braided with her experience.
They are examples of McEntyre’s lived engagement with a poem as an act of prayer, noticing, listening, a variation on lectio divina. I particularly enjoyed her commentary on Hopkins’ “Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord,” a poem with which I am familiar and share a personal history. As Hopkins’ language strains the bounds of syntax, McEntyre offers more of a close reading here – making some lovely observations and connections about the poem’s idiosyncrasies, Hopkins’ context, and the spiritual temptation to envy and comparison. For Galway Kinnell’s “Prayer,” which I encountered for the first time in this volume, her reflection encouraged me to pause over the poem’s dense syntax.
All that said, as an apprentice poet and perpetual beginner in prayer, I have come to crave and depend upon the spaciousness poetry and prayer offer. To that end, I’d rather hear from McEntyre in the introduction and then have the poems uninterrupted. Even with my ambivalence, however, I found myself returning to the poem after reading her reflections. This, I suspect, is the goal – to invite the reader back into the poem as an occasion for attentive listening.
I recommend lingering over just one poem and reflection per sitting. (I must confess I initially glutted myself on the book in just a few sittings.)
I dearly love several of the poems McEntyre has gathered here. Denise Levertov’s “The Avowal,” Mary Oliver’s “Praying,” Scott Cairns’ “Possible Answers to Prayer,” Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord,” are among my favourites. I was also grateful to be introduced to new poems, particularly Joy Harjo’s “Eagle Poem” and Francisco Alarcón’s “L.A. Prayer,” the final lines of which have organically entered my lexicon, returning to mind unprompted.
I would recommend this book for those who are craving a way into poetry, particularly those open to poetry as a way into prayer. It suits the season of Advent, encouraging readers to adopt this patient, receptive posture of attending to words, something McEntyre does well. TAP
Jolene Nolte studies at Regent College where she also shelves books and writes poetry. Her poems have been published in Crux, Fathom, and PQ Review. She attends Sojourn Church, a tiny ANiC congregation on UBC’s campus.
