Calling Orpheus



Early Christians
in times of blight
when life issued red and thick
from limbs and catacomb chalices
saw Him
everywhere
and kept a secret code
in that pentecostal delirium
scratched on those dank
funeral walls.
He was the fish, the young shepherd,
the spreading palm, the delicate
sovereign lamb, the sustaining anchor
and between them glances shot
like mystical arrows
when the legend, the image, the name,
the very thought of
Orpheus
would appear.
He was the re-imagined god
descending again to
capture the dead taken
too young
from parent's and lover's sides
into the darkness of witness,
the land of faith,
best seen
only seen
by those huddled underground
over memory,
over eucharist,
over tombs.

If you see Him now
He is above ground
wandering through the
caverns of Manhattan
touching then closing the eyes
afflicted by a new Beast
who travels again
amongst the young
swallowing hearts and souls
who knew too little time,
they wandered too close to the edge
seeking love,
some gentle healing of dark
childhood,
some place to call home
driven from family and church
stigmatized for love of their own sex
calling Orpheus (the same)
in places haunted by illusion
and hungry Thanatos
posing in plain view as
insatiable Eros...macabre Pied
children who follow him
never return.
We stop our ears
through a rain of tears
we call Orpheus, outcast and degraded,
dipped in blood,
we would hear for them:
His melody is Alleluia
bursting as spring flowers
from the wounds of a tree.




The Seal of Creighton University
This page is managed by
Fr. Raymond A. Bucko, S.J.
of the Department of Sociology and Anthropology
at Creighton University.

E-Mail: bucko@creighton.edu

Page Last Updated: December 1, 2001