J1651

A Word made Flesh is seldomAnd tremblingly partookNor then perhaps reportedBut have I not mistookEach one of us has tastedWith ecstasies of stealthThe very food debatedTo our specific strength -A Word that breathes distinctlyHas not the power to dieCohesive as the SpiritIt may expire if He -“Made Flesh and dwelt among us”Could condescension beLike this consent of LanguageThis loved Philology.

?                    1955

An extremely complex poem that might be thought of as the culmination of her lifelong reflection on the religious implications of poetic language. Poetry, the “Word made Flesh”, is represented here as a form of Holy Communion. And thus philology, the marvellous “consent of Language”, is understood to be another kind of transcendence of the self, or resurrection.