Πνεῦμα
Πνεῦμα (Pneuma) I hear you in the near silent sleep of Gabriel The great proclaimer of good news, Resting in infancy. You whisper through his tiny nostrils Nourishing the matrix of his budding cells With so much more than bread. I hear you in autumn’s rustling mural Fluttering flaming flakes before the blue With a cogency unseen. You whistle past our window cills Piercing through our self-made hells For which the incarnate bled. I hear you sing beneath the sensorial The tone beneath the chord, within the myth the true, A resounding symphony That echoes between hearts and hills, That melodies in the deepest living well; The source from which all souls are fed. This poem is inspired by the reflections of Owen Barfield, often called the ‘First and Last Inkling,’ who, in his book ‘Poetic Diction’, reflects on the evolution of language. The Greek work ‘pneuma’ can accurately be translated as ‘breath', 'wind' or ...