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Hope
By no means has my hope turned to despair.
I’ve not the wakeful nights, the woeful gaze
Up at the ceiling as I chew the day’s
Disasters and a world beyond repair.
I’ve not that inner desolation where
Your every thought is but a paraphrase
Of emptiness and life itself a maze
Of narratives you’ll never quite outwear.
The hope I hold though now’s a calmer thing,
Less ardent, marked by more sobriety
Than once it had. And that I do not grieve.
I like that it should hum instead of sing
And be inside of me the mystery
That others must draw nearer to perceive.
.
.
Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Agape Review, America Magazine, Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, U.S. Catholic, Grand Little Things, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website.
Thank you for this lovely and expressive sonnet, Jeffrey. I do like the way the lines run on so much up to line 8, quite conversationally, then become more clearly separated as you describe the hope you personally have now. Best wishes, Bruce
This is such a beautiful sonnet, Jeffrey. The more I read again, the more it tells me.
Blessings!
Jeffrey, I really admire the way this sonnet builds to its calming and assured sestet. After repeated readings it still has the same effect on me. Thanks for sharing.
I very much like the “blessed assuredness” of this poem.
This precious poem is about a personal about face that reflects a change from what was once despair brought on by a cause and now is grounded in hope. As a reader, it speaks to me that all is not lost and that we all have the ability within us to make changes in our lives.
A very carefully crafted sonnet — in fact, a model for perfect sonnetry.
Despair is a sin, and hope is a requirement. But hope without energetic action (whether in deeds or in writing) is mere quietism.
‘I like that (Hope) should hum instead of sing’. I felt this line summed up the poem. As we age, our hopes change, lessen even, as we content ourselves with less than perhaps we originally wished for.
My main concern these days is that we older folk have poisoned the well of Hope with our arrogance, believing that we are knowledgeable and right in all matters and that there is not only no middle ground, but no negotiation with those of a different viewpoint. We’ve polarised the world in so many ways that the younger generation is increasingly left in despair, for which we often mock them for any of their views and aspirations that challenge ours.
So, yes, I’m more at peace and more hopeful from a personal standpoint, but in the back of my mind realise that I’ll be leaving my kids and maybe one day grandkids with a plethora of problems, from environmental and climatic degradation to an increasingly conflict-ridden world.
That said, all problems can be solved, and my hope is that Mankind can work together for the good of all – a hope which the younger generation fervently wishes for.
Thanks for writing on a subject so close to my heart, Jeffrey. It’s an important topic.
This is such a wonderful sonnet, Jeffrey. It assures the reader (at least this one) that you truly do have such a true and graceful hope; I don’t think you could have described it so well, or imagined it, if you didn’t have it. I hope that one day my hope will be this “calmer thing”. I agree with Bruce that the enjambments are effective. Perhaps they were meant to contrast the earlier lines (more enjambment) with the later ones (fewer of them) to portray an earlier and a later form of the hope of which the poem speaks.
Jeffrey, at the university where I work, I have a bulletin board in the English hall where, for the past 5 years, I’ve posted a weekly new sonnet. I’m pretty picky about posting sonnets that I feel are accessible in their language and relevant to the lives of our students’ (and this is in a secular university setting). Your poetry regularly fits those categories! And I’m sure you’d agree that all the glory for your skill and intuition goes to our Heavenly Father – Keep at it, Brother!
Hello, Everyone: I can’t thank you enough for the very kind things you’ve had to say about this poem. I’m especially honored, Mr. Johnson, to have been featured on your bulletin board. Thanks so much. And yes, all the glory goes entirely to God. That has been clear from the very beginning, since I never wanted to write poetry in the first place; was, in fact, quite resistant to the idea. But a senior brother at my monastery who noticed a lyric quality in my prose, told me to write verse. So I did–strictly as an act of monastic obedience. I did, however cut a deal with God. I said, “I don’t want to waste my time or your gift, so I’ll write poetry for two years. If I’m not published by then, I’ll go back to writing essays.” I was published within the first year. So here I am. Thanks again, everyone, and God bless.
We’re glad you’re here, Jeffrey!
You have a great God-given talent, and I’m glad you share it with all of us!
Jeffrey – I agree with each comment above, and especially liked the phrase that Paul referenced, and “life itself a maze
Of narratives you’ll never quite outwear.” Great stuff!
A well-crafted sonnet. “I like that it should hum instead of sing” is a great line, eminently quotable.
Three really wonderful qualities of this sonnet, Jeffrey. First is the thorough lyric description of the opposing despair in the octave. Next comes the identification of a newer, deeper hope as calm. The virtue of hope requires no action. And with “hum” rather than the overused “sing,” you point out that it can be almost imperceptible. The speaker need do nothing active to advertise it; rather, others capable of perceiving it must “draw nearer” to a mystery. These others may be few, but they will be loyal, respectful friends. And what better accompaniment to hope than the mutual recognition of virtue in enduring friendship? Your final line depicts hope as a most desirable place of genuinely human satisfaction.
Jeffrey, you have captured in the brevity of a beautiful sonnet feelings that stir within my soul. I especially love:
I’ve not that inner desolation where
Your every thought is but a paraphrase
Of emptiness and life itself a maze
Of narratives you’ll never quite outwear.
These wise and admirably woven words put my time here in this wicked and wondrous world in perspective at this stage in my life. For me, the thing with feathers has stopped flapping its wings against a wall it’s never going to break through… instead it looks at the sky through a window that’s opening slowly and gently, more and more each day. Jeffrey, thank you very much indeed!