Because I’m a born pessimist, I’m always
looking for reasons to be hopeful, hence the title and description of this
blog. Today I found a heartening name for the One I try to trust in a poem by
Thomas Chatterton. His phrase was “…God, my East, my Sun…”
God as our life-sustaining Sun-Star is a
familiar metaphor, but God, “my East”? I liked this image a lot. In the face of
life’s haunting shadows, it’s powerful to remember the feeling of watching the
eastern sky begin to lighten, after a Canadian winter’s night, and then the
brilliant moment when the sun’s glorious fire blazes over the horizon.
Unfortunately I made the mistake of looking
up this poet’s bio.
What a sad story of an 18th century
boy in England named Thomas Chatterton! It appears that little Tom was born
with a tendency toward depression, since he is described as a child who sat for
hours staring off into space and was frequently found in tears. After a slow
start at learning to read and write, this solitary dreamer began creating
poems.
At the age of 11 he had one of his poems
published in the “Bristol Journal”, and he continued to write for various
magazines, while enduring a strict boarding school and later a dull
apprenticeship to a local lawyer. In those days, as you know, children were
considered adults at a very young age and he was earning his own living by 16.
Chatterton is considered the first
“Romantic” poet and did in fact live alone in a garret, where one night, before
his 18th birthday, depression overcame him. In hopelessness, Tom
ripped to shreds some of his written work, drank a glass of water mixed with
arsenic and ended his life.
(See painting by Henry Wallis of
Chatterton’s death scene here )
Needless to
say, Chatterton’s poem below took on a different shade for me after reading his
story. Two hundred and fifty years ago, poor Thomas turned away from the Christian hope affirmed in his poem and resolutely set his face toward the west.
Then why, my
soul, dost thou complain?
Why drooping
seek the dark recess?
Shake off the
melancholy chain,
For God
created all to bless.
The gloomy
mantle of the night,
Which on my
sinking spirits steals,
Will vanish
at the morning light,
Which God, my
East, my Sun, reveals.
May you and I hold up for each
other the promise of dawn’s faithful return.
