MND Musings - formerly Diary of a Donkeybody - This is a record of a chronic illness, Primary Lateral Sclerosis, a Motor Neurone disorder, like a slow MND / ALS. My body may not be very cooperative; in fact it's become as stubborn as a donkey, but I've found a dancing joy nonetheless.
Friday, 18 February 2011
Here’s a poem called “The Prayer”, by Carol Ann Duffy –
Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
Utters itself. So, a woman will lift
Her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
At the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.
Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
Enters our hearts, that small familiar pain ;
Then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
In the distant Latin chanting of a train.
Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales
Console the lodger looking out across
A Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
A child’s name as though they named their loss.
Darkness outside. Inside, the radio’s prayer –
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.
I'm grateful to my friend, Martin Cavender, for pointing this out to me. As you may know, sometimes what Carol Ann Duffy calls the radio's prayer is my companion in the hours of darkness.
I love that truth: "Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself." So thank you, Poet Laureate. (I hope you don't mind my quoting you.)