To turn, turn will be our delight

Till by turning, turning, we come down right

Dear friends, 

Hallo to you from Iona, a small island off the west coast of Scotland. I’ve been here many times, and I’m writing this (wearing most of the clothes I’ve packed and also wrapped in a blanket) listening to the buffeting wind blowing in from the Atlantic. I am staying in a very cosy place; the reason I’m so layered is I’ve opened the window. I love the sound of a gale, and the taste of sea salt on the air is gorgeous. 

Sheep with Iona’s old Free Church looking out over the bay to the Isle of Mull. Photo: Pádraig Ó Tuama

I loved reading your stories about strangers in response to last week’s invitation. It’s always a joy to see the connections that readers make with each other in the comments, and comments in reply to comments: some funny, some moving, some shocking, some simple. All received, and read, with gratitude. 

I think about the Italian word “volta” a lot. In poetry, it’s a formal component of a sonnet, noted most powerfully in Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130: 

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
   As any she belied with false compare.

The TLDR of this is: Shakespeare disses his mistress throughout 12 poetic lines, but then, in the final couplet, turns and undoes the argument he’s been building. In this instance, the volta, or the turn, is a piece of theatre. The poem knows all along how it will end, and the “she’s only just alright” is a piece of hyperbole. Often, in sonnets, the volta is indicated by something like “And yet” (as Shakespeare does here). In other works, the turn may be indicated by a “However,” “But,” or some other modifier that indicates how the point of view is about to turn, revolve, or undergo a revolution (English words that also trace their origin to volta). 

The volta in a poem may be a technique employed as drama. However, there are other poems where the volta seems to surprise, confront, or challenge the poet, where they find that the integrity of the line, the poem’s argument, demands that the poet look back on themselves. Twenty years after (magnificently unsuccessful) gay-devil exorcisms, I began writing sonnets about the experience. There were forces in me that wished to write poems of rage and revenge, and while the poems employ strong language, the demands of the volta were also strong, and asked me to write something other than 14-line invectives.  

In a way, a sonnet — a word that translates as “little song” — exhibits what, in theology, you’d call “repentance.” Repentance isn’t about exhibiting sorrow; it’s about the changing of mind or changing direction. I am moved when someone can admit the ways they’ve changed their mind. Often people in public life are punished for such pivots. While I can join in the critique that some figures only exhibit such change because of opinion polls, I am also aware that I’m part of the system, and the through line of complicity, cowardice, courage, and capacity also splits me in two. 

I remain convinced that poetic form — like, in this instance, the sonnet’s volta — has psychological insight about the dynamics of human behaviour, thought, and communication. We need sonnets because we need reminders of what it’s like to look for, and exhibit, turns in our lives. Even if the motivation for such turns is selfish, the turn might be for the good anyway. Or, even if not for the pure good, nonetheless for the good-enough.

Now I’m humming that old Shaker hymn (yes, they of the furniture, but also of the dancing) that ends: 

When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come 'round right.

So that’s the question this week: When have you exhibited a volta in your life, a turn, a change? What did it cost? What happened next? 

I look forward to the stories, friends.  

Poetry in the World

April 15 at 6pm, Cleveland, Ohio, US

I’m giving a poetry reading in the Donahue Auditorium at John Carroll University. No registration needed; just show up. 

April 19–21, Round Top, Texas, US

I’m delighted to be one of the featured poets at the Round Top Poetry festival. Information and tickets here. 

April 25 at 6-7:30pm, New York City, NY, US 

I’ll be exploring conflict and change through poetry at an in-person event in partnership with the Conflict and Cooperation Centre at Columbia University. You can register for free here. 

April 27, Little Rock, AR, USA

I’ll be offering both an afternoon workshop and an evening talk at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church. Details aren’t available yet, but I’ll post them here when they are.

May 14, Pittsburgh, PA, US 

For you theologically interested folks, I’ll be speaking at the Festival of Homiletics. Info here.

May 17 at 2–4pm, Camden, Maine, US

I’ll be talking about the word “you” in poetry at the Camden Public Library. You can attend in person or over Zoom. The entire two-day festival is free; information here. 

May 24–26, Boone, North Carolina, US

I’m leading a a 48-hour Poetry Unbound retreat, where there will be poetry readings, responding to prompts, and sharing. Information and registration here.

June 27–July 7, Patmos, Greece

I’m one of the speakers at the 10-night “Journeying into Common Good” salon, together with Krista Tippett, Allison Russell, JT Nero, and Joe Henry. More details here.

Aug 7th at 6-7:30pm ET, online 

I’ll be exploring conflict and change through poetry at an online event in partnership with the Conflict and Cooperation Centre at Columbia University. You can register for free here.