THE FOREWORD

FOREWORD

FIND truth, my soul, and do not flee away
From light that pains the darkened eye with day.
Is man the gauge of right and wrong, one man
Who rules, the erudite or strong, who can
Impose by arm or reason his own will,
Or even the free soul that's standing still?
I think not, my experience shows me
That human search has limits it can be.
If I am limited, it does not follow
That there is greater in the world to wallow.
But if there is One violent Beloved,
He may extend a hand, though it be gloved,
A hand of revelation in my need,
A word of knowledge and a loaf to feed
The soul whose barren corners lack the light
FTo know the right from wrong at the first sight.

Sweet Reader, dearest, take this book in hand,
And open it, and read, and understand.
It holds the words of One divine and true,
Called Allah, Ælohim, or God, or YHWH [Huu].
I sip the bright and glowing syllables
Of revelation, myth and miracles,
As some contend, but none of these describe
Those words to me. I see no lie or bribe,
But only billets-doux from the Beloved.
I answer them, cloved, cinnamoned, fox-gloved,
Rose-watered and in bitter lime inured,
Yet shyly pausing to pluck at His word.
Sweet Reader, dearest, take this book and read
The words of one Beloved, if you'll not heed
My flocked rejoinders. Meet the Sabbath day
With book in tow and in it lose your way.

I might cast curses on that education
That turned me preacher to the church and nation
That will have nothing of the words I say.
I speak to bare walls who once spoke for pay.
And yet I cast suspicion on the priest
Who eats his hearers' bread, offence increased.
Instead of bare walls I preach on to God,
Call Him Beloved who am made of the sod.

Since none stop on the corner where I preach
My livid rhymes, I'm free of those constraints
That hired bishops lay on self and each.
I live among wild creatures and their saints.
I thank that education that gave me
The languages to read the sanctity
Entombed in Bible and Qur'an for earth,
And taught me what a lexicon is worth.
With Hebrew text and facile dictionary
I can dispense with other commentary.

Caedmon alone in Saxon tongue was bold
To start the brave tradition of the old
Medieval singers of the divine Word.
Such troubadours but copied Arab style
That spoke Qur'anic language for awhile.
A pox upon Wickliffe's and Tyndale's curd,
Who turned the poetry to prose and thus
Began tradition of translating worse.
I laud the two, however, for their fame
Of opposition to priestly acclaim,
And setting every ploughboy on the hill
To knowing Scripture better than church mill.

The only way to translate's with the heart
And rhythmings and rhymings from the start.
But divine Word bears no translation well.
Its incarnation in body a spell
Quite failed to rend the veils and fill the earth
With knowledge of the Lord and of His worth.
Rather than a translation, I shall speak
Of sermons for the listener that I seek,
The barkings of a dog let off the leash,
The contemplations of a lone dervish.

I read the Massoretic text and take
The Byzantine or Received Text in stake,
Just as did those who followed good King James,
And so relieve myself of blames and claims.
I trace Apocrypha attached in Greek,
And add to this two other works I seek,
The Book of Enoch and of Jubilees,
Whose language is beyond my expertise
That must rely on Lawrence, Charles and
Josh Williams's edition out of hand,
But most upon delighted reading of
Ras Feqade the First's compelling love.
And so I here recuperate the narrow
Canon of Ethiopic church and marrow.
I hesitate not to redeem a few
More ancient texts that have freshness of dew
And speak of our Lord in his infancy,
Or like Clement affirm morality,
Or like Thomas reveal a secret word
Of what Christ said and of what then occurred.
Axum and Yemen must have taught the first
Of Muslim refugees what was not worst,
The popular faith, not official go
Of king, but that of peasant and the low.
This unspoiled, pristine faith by some called Jew
And by some Christian is retained by few,
And is expressed in Qur'an to guide to
Reform behind the sectarian view.
And so I take also Arab Qur'an,
And try its glowing words and put them on
To wear in English eight-step lines as brash
As any Turkish folk bard makes from trash.
My speeches to the Lord I make resound
In ten-step lines with some ghazel-like sound,
Although in both I sometimes let the measure
Run in a rhyme feminine for its treasure.
These freely singing sonnets from the heart
Reply to the Beloved from horse and cart.
I let the modern translator run prose
In pseudo-scientific power pose,
And take each word I taste as full inspired
No matter what the critic has admired.

The old scholars say faith arose in time
Through fear of ghosts or high gods in their prime.
Both evolution and diffusion make
Some errors that the new-come seems to take.
I lay off every theory and instead
Know that all faiths are of one power bred.
They all began once when a crowd complained
They heard God speaking on a mountain trained.
Some call the mountain Sinai some Redstone
Pipe Quarry, others have their grant and throne,
But all are right as far as they retain
The message of the Decalogue amain.

All is just book and visions of the wary,
The Torahs, Psalms, and Gospels, no doubt true,
Are ancient words repeated, ancillary
To that one revelation that will do
For all time, I mean Decalogue. That's all
We find in any book of faith that's call
Direct from God to multitudes to show
What is belief and faith and how to go.
To me the words are lovely things to hear,
That God is one, and yet He is so near
To me that I cannot see Him at all,
As I cannot see heart, vein, or eye-ball.
No thing can express Him in image or
Be object of my worship, but abhor.
His name is lovely to be called upon
In joy, in fear, in quietness and calm,
Who holds guiltless who do not call in vain.
Though He is always present, I can gain
No hiding place from Him, yet He appears
Each Sabbath day with happiness or tears.
He gives one duty only to be done,
Not great feats nor things tiring to be won,
But simply honour to one's mom and dad,
By doing so, one avoids all things bad,
In judgement has the chance to come home free.
He lovingly protects from harm by saying
Not to kill, not commit adultery,
Not to steal, and in bearing witness staying
Within the truth. But greatest satisfaction
Comes in not coveting another's faction.
The Bible and Qur'an have just one plot,
Examining the Decalogue's love-knot.

O pagan Christian, lay this book aside.
You've not honesty to bear truth, abide
In your Mithraic sacrifices and
Their festivals to sun on every hand.
Or else put off idolatry that wears
The false face of three gods in one for dares,
Put off your human sacrifice and cup
Of human blood you drink and then look up,
Put off your hate and criticism of
The sacred Word of God dwelt on in love.
Bow down in sacrifice of self this day
Of Sabbath rest held in repentance' sway
Instead of the emotions of false story,
Seductions of fanfare and churchly glory.

The dross of seven evils I replace
With gold of love to God, before His face
Obedience to His word rightly known
That He sent out from Sinai and His throne.
The first evil eschewed is pagan gods
Set in their trinities cast on the sods.
The second evil is the works of hands
Set up for worship, iron credo bands.
The third is Sunday worship, sun worship,
The fourth is priestcraft and bowing from hip.
The fifth is payment to the priest and crown,
The sixth is violence and killing for
The so-called faith and weal, and what is more,
The last is pride of power, seeking renown.

Sweet reader with a loving heart, read not
This book at once as in an hour taught.
Instead take it each day in sacred draught,
And after whirling holy names at eve
As Sabbath draws on, do not take your leave
Until you've made a portion of its fire
And calm one with your secret soul's desire.
A daily, weekly guide its pages are
To those who follow David's key and star.
The Baptist way of worship guides my hand
With prayer and song and preaching to the band.
The Torah is a song, the Psalms a prayer,
The Gospel and Qur’an preach to the fair,
And so the whole’s a Sabbath meeting’s share.

Beloved, God of the Universe, the One
Who stands alone in royal dignity,
Creator of the worlds and all things done,
Look in Your love and mercy upon me.
I put Ed Elwall's turban on my crown
And don his white and seamless Turkish gown.
I start my pilgrimage at Eden's gate,
Pass Egypt and fair Babylon with hate,
Bow at the Kaaba of my own threshold,
And penetrate the streets of Salem, old
And worn, kiss Ephrata's steep hills and fly
To Yemen and Axum beneath clear sky.
Beloved, God of the humble and the small,
Hear one poor dervish and his single call.

The camels and the caravans pass by,
The trains of pomp and wealth beneath a sky
Clear sunned. I walk my circle now alone,
No comrade here to share my wine and bone.
None hears my footsteps fall in sacrifice
But You alone, Beloved, and You suffice.
I lay Ed Elwall's turban now aside,
Take off the Turkish gown once donned in pride,
And naked step into the slaughtering ground.
The sighing of Your name's the only sound
That touches on my ear. Alone I whirl
While the great and the true come to unfurl
A flag of conquest and a seat of state.
Outside the fold I humbly kiss Your gate.

The wilderness about my ringing ears
Re-echoes with the sermons in arrears
E. Eckerlin recites into the wind.
Like his my fellows are both winged and finned,
Who can sit through the rhetoric of hours,
Day after day, night after night, in showers
Of jewels let loose from Your eternal Word.
I meet the lone dervish of beast and bird.
The man was satisfied to be alone,
Cabined in the woods, friend of earth and stone.
He was again in peace when others came,
Establishing about him halls of fame.
He lived to see the comers go away.
Still he was satisfied to stay and pray.

The most obscure of Your band is St. Beathan,
Not even certain which of two we mean,
Or if he is progenitor of mine
Or only mentor of my fathers' wine.
The Celtic hermitage beside the lake
Was where he learned in every beastie's wake
And taught the humble who came to his door
To pray to You, Beloved, upon the shore.
I too in centuries beyond his ken
Avoid the tabernacles of strong men
And sit between the lake and forest trees
And learn from robins and the bumble bees
To take my breath and nourishment from You
Alone beside the pansies and the dew.

AUTHOR: THOMAS G. MCELWAIN



Copyright © 2007 Adams & McElwain Publishers and Thomas McElwain First Published in two volumes, The Beloved and I 2005, and Led of the Beloved, 2006. Second Edition, 2010 Third and revised edition, 2012 All rights reserved. No part of this verse commentary on the sacred Scriptures may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from publisher.

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