Blessed Miguel's Poetry

Blessed Miguel was known for writing little poems and drawing cartoons to amuse his friends. I believe that many of his "light" poems have "heavy" messages.

Miguel wrote the following poem on the back of a postcard to his friend Angela Cepeda. Unfortunately, whenever we attempt to translate or find meaning in a poem or piece of art, we can never be certain of our accuracy. Sure, we might be able to get the words, but all we can do is hope to get close to the thoughts in the poet or artist’s head at the time they created their work. To best do that, we need to place ourselves in the time and circumstances of the poet, and understand not only his language and culture, but also what is going on in his life at the time. It is difficult enough to translate from one language to another. Blessed Miguel complicated matters by using idioms, archaic words and even words from other languages. I have been trying to translate this poem for nearly two years.

In late 1909, Miguel and his family visited the nuns at the convent of Guadalupe where his sisters eventually entered religious life. At the same time, he visited the famous mummies of Guanajuato, dramatic memento mori. ( If you have never seen the mummies, I have an article about them on my website: annball.com.) At the time, Miguel remarked that he wanted to be a saint.

In April of 1910, at the sight of Halley’s comet, he joyously cried out, "Just wait, little stars -or big, until you see how I shall outdo you by leaving my trail across the heavens." His sister left for the convent in August, and his second sister entered in February of 1911. Sadly, Miguel begged his sister to tell him what was causing her to leave her loved ones. When she replied that it was the Will of God, he begged her to pray that he, too, could learn the Will of God for his life. Miguel entered the Jesuit novitiate in August of 1911. Miguel wrote this poem in early 1910; I believe it is an expression of his interior struggle about his vocation.

De que la suerte se inclina
A moler a los mortales,
No valen flores cordiales
Ni cocimiento de quina.
Ni huevos espiritales,
Ni la injundia de gallina,
Ni el ollin de los comales
Con agua de antipisina
Ni los resos ni oraciones
y ni la Salve Regina.

Many of the references in the poem are to things used as folk medicine in Mexico. As a child, Miguel’s mother used her nursing skills and native medicines in treating the sick among the poor miners, and Miguel often accompanied her on her missions of mercy. A rough translation of the poem reads:

Of all the luck inclined
To bother mortal man
It’s cordial flowers have no value
Even when cooked with bitter quinine*.
Nothing helps.
Not spiritual eggs, the fat of a hen, or ashes from the comal (skillet) mixed
with water from the baptismal font.
Prayers and devotion, not even the Salve Regina, helps.

* (Herbalists know quinine as Jesuit powder!)

The translation seems nothing more than a sad commentary on fate. I didn’t understand it at all until one of the Spanish speaking seminarians from St. Mary’s visited one night and I asked him to help me translate. At first he began by simply translating the words as I explained the Mexican folk medicine. Then Alberto, who has an artistic soul, re-read it quietly through. "The poem is untranslatable," he concluded, "but I understand it because it is exactly the way I felt! It was difficult to decide my vocation, but there was something inside of me that would not let me rest until I entered the seminary."

So often it is difficult to know what God wants of us. How comforting it seems to me that even our saint had to struggle to find God’s Will. Father Luis preached a beautiful sermon on All Souls Day. In it, he said that often our lives are like a book that we don’t really understand until we reach the final chapter.

Many of our young priests today leave the seminary a few years after ordination. The news media would blame the entire problem on the vow of celibacy, but that isn’t true. Most often, the reasons cited include loneliness. For those on this list who are not seminarians or priests, I ask you, when was the last time you did something nice for a seminarian or priest that you know? It is up to us, the laity, to support them in any way that we can. For us, they are the Alter Christus; we must value their vocation.

Perhaps one reason that I am so intrigued by Blessed Miguel’s poetry is that from time to time I, too, scribble off a poem. Like him, my poetry is written for, and to, my friends. Here is one I wrote a few years ago to celebrate a priest friend’s 40th anniversary of ordination.

The Cosmic Christ - Jesus Priest

Things change.
The priesthood has.
No priest is called to splash blood on the lintels;
No knife is sharpened; no lamb is slain.
Yet the Paschal Lamb is still upon the altar,
Waiting, meekly, for the joyful celebration.

The little girls with crowns of flowers and long white veils
Are rarely seen today.
They wait their gifts in pink and pretty party clothes.
No white-suited page approaches; a shirt and tie
With long pants suffices.

The sisters once common in the halls
Decorate retirement homes.
And when I visit, their tinny voices chirrup
"Ave and good evenin’ to ye, Father.
Seems to me ye’ve changed a wee bit."

The young sisters have gone to work for peace and justice
In a foreign land.
The laity assists the priest; a million ministries exist.
Things have changed.
The priesthood has.
The world has.
I have.

But wait, is that a cry? One is hurt? One is hungry?
One is naked and in prison? One is sick?

Then I shall be a cosmic priest, an serve a cosmic Christ.
I shall work until I yawn for sleep, and I’ll not rest
But grind myself to cosmic dust to ride upon the cosmic rays
Backwards, until I lie at rest on the dining table
In the mansion of the Great Cosmographer.
I am a priest forever.

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Blessed Miguel, please beg our Cosmic Jesus, High Priest, to guard and guide all seminarians and His consecrated priests that they may serve Him with joy forever.

¡Viva Cristo Rey!

-- Ann Ball

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