Beyond Me. Carroll E. Arkema
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space to get absorbed in them, whether partaking of them by oneself or sharing them with family or friends. Although they’re not light reading, I think that the poems have an energy that will carry you through to the end.
I wrote my first poem, “Panic,” over the course of five to six months as a less-than-fully-conscious part of my own healing journey. The first line came to me, and the rest began to follow. I felt more and more deeply soothed and satisfied as I worked on the poem. My panic abated, and I could now see my panic in a larger context. I felt that I was a part of something that was much bigger than me. The very writing of the poem, as well as its words, eventually put me in a healing and creative relationship with God—this awesome Presence which is beyond me and beyond any adequate apprehension or description of it. But words and stories about its manifestations remind us of its presence and of our ultimate dependence upon it. That Spirit-Presence is beyond me and within me—the very source of my life and breath. But if I don’t do my part to nurture this relationship, I increasingly experience darkness, panic, emptiness, void. However, when I’m mindful of my dependence upon that Transcendent Creative Energy or Spirit, I feel more alive, secure, and whole; and I can participate in some measure in that Creative Energy—by partnering with God’s healing Spirit in myself and others; by seeking justice; by finding ways of being creative myself—such as writing poetry, doing therapy.
The Journal of Religion and Health published that first poem, which was tremendously encouraging. I’ve been writing ever since, while continuing to be a Pastoral Psychotherapist and a Marriage and Family Therapist, and while continuing—with satisfaction and resistance—to pursue my own personal, relational, and spiritual growth.
In addition to being therapeutic for me, writing poetry allows me to explore the intricacy and complexity of existence—as captured also in Scripture—and gives me a framework for accessing sometimes detailed memories.
The poem “Death on the Farm and the Riddle of Samson” seeks to capture the remarkable story of Samson’s individuation journey—his movement towards becoming a mature intentional person. In the process, he rebels a bit as a way of defining himself in the context of the powerful expectations that his parents have of him and of what he knows about God and God’s plan for himself and the Israelites. In the end, when he’s stripped of all addictions and pride, he consciously chooses to align himself with God’s plan. He surrenders his life to God with far-reaching sacrificial effect, which frees himself and his people from bondage and oppression.
In writing “Kingdom of Heaven, Still at Hand?” I was struck by the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus. Over the centuries, the focus on Jesus has all but eclipsed the significance for Jesus of John and his ministry. Notice specifically the mutual recognition and respect each has for the other. It became clear to me, as I wrote this poem, that the success and fulfillment of Jesus’ ministry is heavily indebted to John’s ministry: John’s humble ego-sacrificing relationship with Jesus, and also the example John gave of speaking divine truth to human power and arrogance—all the way to his death at their hands. He did indeed “prepare the way of the Lord.”
As for the poem about Benjy, based on a theatrical performance of sections from The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner, well, Faulkner, wow, Faulkner! With a seamless artistry that leaves the Reader only noticing it later, he weaves into the novel a contemporary enactment of incarnation: of Transcendent Energy inhabiting someone who becomes a humble but authoritative mediator of a profoundly moving power that pierces to the marrow and leaves one knowing that even in suffering, one is inhabited by Spirit and not alone. I’m referring to the Preacher who—as he gets warmed up—shifts from academic theological language to colloquial African-American vernacular. Again, wow!
I experience and perceive these poems—at their best—as offering glimpses of Transcendent Mystery which is beyond us but also incarnate in human life and in all life on earth. I hope that the Reader resonates with some of what I’ve written, and catches yet another glimpse of the Mystery inherent in persons and in life and relationships.
Carroll E. Arkema
February 27, 2014
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the editors at Wipf and Stock for publishing my book, and to thank specifically Christian Amondson and Matt Wimer for their prompt and detailed support in helping me to prepare and submit the manuscript. Thanks, also, to Springer Publishing for their generous permission to include my poems from the Journal of Religion and Health (JORH), and to Curtis Hart, current Editor of the JORH, and Carol Bischoff, at Springer, for guiding and facilitating the Permissions process.
I’m grateful to the patient who gave me permission to publish my poem about our work together, and to all the other important people in my life who have had an impact on me and who appear in—and/or inspire—these poems: especially my parents—Bernard and (the late) Cornelia Arkema—for their spirituality, love, and belief in me; my brothers and sisters-in-law—Dean and Gayle Arkema, and Ken and Pat Arkema—for their excitement and affirmation about having a book published; and the following friends and colleagues: Roger Plantikow, whom I’ve known for thirty-six years—my first and best supervisor, then mentor, and for the last fifteen years colleague and friend, and to whom this book is dedicated; Charles Mayer and Leslye Noyes for their early encouragement and appreciation of my poetry (Charles was the first to call me a “Poet”); Dan Bottorff, whose long-term friendship and shared Iowa farm origins have led to much laughter and mutual support; Donald Ferrell, who accepted my first poem for publication and encouraged me to send more, which he also published, and who graciously agreed to write the Foreword to this book; Donald Capps, whose writing is inspiring for the way it reveals his fascination with his subject or topic and his pleasure in communicating that fascination to the Reader: one feels his care for the Reader, and I felt it for me personally at his ready affirmation of my website and my work; Jaco Hamman, who showed an appreciation for the best in me from the time we met; Michele Galante, MD, my Homeopathic Physician, whose wisdom, care, and wholistic medicine have enhanced and many times restored my health and wholeness, and who has reflected the beauty in my poetry; and Sal Barrone, an artist friend who eagerly awaited my book.
A special thanks to Mairead Stack, my Life Partner, whose welcoming smile and feisty love and playfulness continue to give me a living experience of an undergirding love which embraces and catalyzes all that an intimate relationship has to offer. In this loving—and therefore safe—embrace, I’ve learned the transformative power of getting beneath my anger so that I can own, talk about, and suffer/endure the pain and insecurity underneath my anger. Being that vulnerable makes me more lovable and also makes compassion for myself a healing possibility. So what’s this got to do with writing poetry? Well, quite a lot. When I’m being with—feeling—my pain and insecurity, I’m less aloof and less defended. I’m being with the whole truth about myself, and I’m therefore open to the light and shadows in myself and other people as I work this all out in any given poem. With Mairead I’ve felt loved, forgiven, and delighted in—which has helped me do that for myself, for her, and for everyone. Also, her love of literature and the arts has enriched and inspired me.
Most of all, I’m humbled, awed, thrilled, inspired, and upheld by the presence of the Holy Spirit in my life, in my relationships, in my own healing journey, in my healing ministry, and in my writing. I can truly say, “Thanks be to God!”
Panic
Through rolling Time’s interstices,
Which I thought neat and tightly sewn,
Sheer Panic pops—or is it Void?—
And rips a ragged hole so large
That Panic’s all there is.
Breath won’t come, I cannot breathe!
Except for short sharp anxious gasps.
Past and future are no more
The Now is nothing either,
Is death the only out? Please end!
But wait, I live!
I’m