Ralph Wright, OSB is a Benedictine monk at Saint Louis Abbey in Saint Louis, Missouri. A noted hymnist and poet, Father Ralph was born in Nottinghamshire, England, in 1938. He received his early education at Ampleforth College in Yorkshire and later spent two years in the British Army. He studied the classics at Oxford University and theology at Fribourg in Switzerland before being ordained a priest in 1970. At his abbot's request, he left England to join Saint Louis Abbey in the United States where he has lived for over thirty years. Currently, he is Vocations Director at the Abbey and teaches Theology, Creative Writing and Tennis in St Louis Priory School.
We are very happy to welcome Fr. Ralph as a contributor to this site. He is the author of a number of books of poetry. Here we will present selections from the three volumes that are most readily available: Christ Our Love for All Seasons, leaves of water, and all the stars are snowflakes.
Le Mée Studies
Our Benedictine Connection Father Ralph Wright, OSB
About
Christ Our Love for All Seasons (Mahwah, NJ:
Paulist Press, 2005) is a prayer book geared toward every liturgical season in the year-and each "season" of our individual lives. All the major feast days are featured with poems, hymns, and psalms relevant to the occasion. There are also poems for morning, noon, evening, and night as well as birth, childhood, adolescence, marriage, consecration, retirement and death/resurrection. The reader is invited to read first the poetry and then the Liturgy of the Hours or to move back and forth, using one to enrich and enliven the other.
Eddy Harris, author of Still Life in Harlem has perceived the essence of Fr. Ralph's poetry when he writes, "There is a remarkable presence in Wright's poetry, a spirit that permeates the pages. Hidden beneath the serenity of his poems there moves a force that calls his readers to quiet attention. And if we are careful enough readers and alert enough, within the stillness we will find the whispering of God and the loudness of life."
leaves of water (St. Louis, MO: St. Louis Abbey Press, 1997) and all the stars are snowflakes (Francestown, NH: Golden Quill Press, 1992) also illustrate the gifts of a poet whose writings are never obscure but nevertheless demand that we return, again and again, to delight in and savor both words and subtle meanings.
Eddy Harris, author of Still Life in Harlem has perceived the essence of Fr. Ralph's poetry when he writes, "There is a remarkable presence in Wright's poetry, a spirit that permeates the pages. Hidden beneath the serenity of his poems there moves a force that calls his readers to quiet attention. And if we are careful enough readers and alert enough, within the stillness we will find the whispering of God and the loudness of life."
leaves of water (St. Louis, MO: St. Louis Abbey Press, 1997) and all the stars are snowflakes (Francestown, NH: Golden Quill Press, 1992) also illustrate the gifts of a poet whose writings are never obscure but nevertheless demand that we return, again and again, to delight in and savor both words and subtle meanings.
For other books by Father Ralph, go to online booksellers.
Poetry and a Hymn from Christ-Our Love for All Seasons,
by Ralph Wright, OSB
Messiah
anoint the wounds
of my spirit
with the balm
of forgiveness
pour the oil
of your calm
on the waters
of my heart
take the squeal
of frustration
from the wheels
of my passion
that the power
of your tenderness
may smooth
the way I love
that the tedium
of giving
in the risk
of surrender
and the reaching
out naked
to a world
that must wound
may be kindled
fresh daily
to a blaze
of compassion
that the grain
may fall gladly
to burst in the ground
-and the harvest abound
When God Made You
When
God
made
you
there
was
silence
in
heaven
for
five
minutes.
Then
God
said:
"How come I never thought of that before?"
In Memory of My Mother
One day I will write of your feather-light words
that will bring you back to me laughing and strong
wild on the air with warmth and comfort
fighting with wisdom and care-
one day I will write of you hardly with words
wet on the tip of my pen but not here
now at this moment now is too near
you are too near to me distance is needed
if I am to write somehow essentially
words about you-
so now I must wait but one day I'll write
before your face your smile and your tenderness
leap too far from my view
when you have become somehow more apart from me
and I have received new calm
I will poise on the air snow-lilting words
dancing aspects of you.
Jericho
The man who fell in with thieves
on his way to Jericho
may have been going there
-for all we know-
to murder his mother
he may have come from robbing the Temple
or sleeping with his next-door-neighbor's wife
-we are not told-
the man who finds him
half dead
clearly does not know
and God seems to be hammering home
blow by blow
the thought
that worthiness is irrelevant
all we need
is to recognize need
I Listened to the Sound of Rain
I listened to the sound of rain
upon the trees
approaching with the wind
-the rain and wind were still some woods away
I listened to the terror of the wind
upon the leaves in anger tearing them
untimely out of life and swirling them
at random in the dark upon the ground
I listened to the calm that came
from nowhere on the leaves
when suddenly the angry air was gone
I heard them welcome with relief
the newborn silence of the night
and watch in awe for dawn
Evening Hymn
O Blessed Light
O Blessed light, O Trinity
O flowing source of unity,
The sun now sinks and burns the sky,
Bring light and grace
Lest hope should die.
In song we offer praise at dawn,
And pray when evening's cares are done.
With you our glory, you our praise,
May we sing humbly
All our days.
To God the Father may there be
All glory, praise, and majesty,
As in the Spirit with his Son
He lives and reigns
Forever one.
anoint the wounds
of my spirit
with the balm
of forgiveness
pour the oil
of your calm
on the waters
of my heart
take the squeal
of frustration
from the wheels
of my passion
that the power
of your tenderness
may smooth
the way I love
that the tedium
of giving
in the risk
of surrender
and the reaching
out naked
to a world
that must wound
may be kindled
fresh daily
to a blaze
of compassion
that the grain
may fall gladly
to burst in the ground
-and the harvest abound
When God Made You
When
God
made
you
there
was
silence
in
heaven
for
five
minutes.
Then
God
said:
"How come I never thought of that before?"
In Memory of My Mother
One day I will write of your feather-light words
that will bring you back to me laughing and strong
wild on the air with warmth and comfort
fighting with wisdom and care-
one day I will write of you hardly with words
wet on the tip of my pen but not here
now at this moment now is too near
you are too near to me distance is needed
if I am to write somehow essentially
words about you-
so now I must wait but one day I'll write
before your face your smile and your tenderness
leap too far from my view
when you have become somehow more apart from me
and I have received new calm
I will poise on the air snow-lilting words
dancing aspects of you.
Jericho
The man who fell in with thieves
on his way to Jericho
may have been going there
-for all we know-
to murder his mother
he may have come from robbing the Temple
or sleeping with his next-door-neighbor's wife
-we are not told-
the man who finds him
half dead
clearly does not know
and God seems to be hammering home
blow by blow
the thought
that worthiness is irrelevant
all we need
is to recognize need
I Listened to the Sound of Rain
I listened to the sound of rain
upon the trees
approaching with the wind
-the rain and wind were still some woods away
I listened to the terror of the wind
upon the leaves in anger tearing them
untimely out of life and swirling them
at random in the dark upon the ground
I listened to the calm that came
from nowhere on the leaves
when suddenly the angry air was gone
I heard them welcome with relief
the newborn silence of the night
and watch in awe for dawn
Evening Hymn
O Blessed Light
O Blessed light, O Trinity
O flowing source of unity,
The sun now sinks and burns the sky,
Bring light and grace
Lest hope should die.
In song we offer praise at dawn,
And pray when evening's cares are done.
With you our glory, you our praise,
May we sing humbly
All our days.
To God the Father may there be
All glory, praise, and majesty,
As in the Spirit with his Son
He lives and reigns
Forever one.
Poems from leaves of water, by Ralph Wright, OSB
Every Word Spoken
Every
word
spoken
is
as
past
as
pyramids
and
gone
forever
If You Are Made
if you are made
Man
by God
to share his life
then nothing
they may say
or do
can ever reduce
the barely finite
grandeur
of your being
If God
If God
had been
indifferent
to you
he'd
have made
someone else
Life is Simpler Towards Evening
life is simpler towards evening
shadows longer quieter
and more complete
things are calm
we no longer throttle speech
from mystery
but having lived through long years
respect silence
we no longer audit God's accounts
with the same agony
but knowing him more deeply know that he
is good for loving
now vision comes
only in lightening
leaving us blinder than before
but more aware
that change remains our permanent despair
pulled by a current out of our control
we live in a growing past
the myth of happiness stains our empty glass
time corks the joy of every swift delight
but moments test the passing wine
and find in it a tang of the eternal
Every
word
spoken
is
as
past
as
pyramids
and
gone
forever
If You Are Made
if you are made
Man
by God
to share his life
then nothing
they may say
or do
can ever reduce
the barely finite
grandeur
of your being
If God
If God
had been
indifferent
to you
he'd
have made
someone else
Life is Simpler Towards Evening
life is simpler towards evening
shadows longer quieter
and more complete
things are calm
we no longer throttle speech
from mystery
but having lived through long years
respect silence
we no longer audit God's accounts
with the same agony
but knowing him more deeply know that he
is good for loving
now vision comes
only in lightening
leaving us blinder than before
but more aware
that change remains our permanent despair
pulled by a current out of our control
we live in a growing past
the myth of happiness stains our empty glass
time corks the joy of every swift delight
but moments test the passing wine
and find in it a tang of the eternal
Poems from all the stars are snowflakes
Impish and Grey
impish and grey
with a look of permanent surprise
written across his face
the ultimate neurotic
moves with lightning spurts
and then is still
like frame by frame analysis
of action replay
he moves head first
down his tree
or soars
-with all the speed that stopping every yard
allows an organism-
into its branches
munching acorns held
like pious medals in superstitious hands
and with creative phobias for everything
even his tail
he seems to be constantly caught in the act
and claiming innocence
All the Stars are Snowflakes
all the stars are snowflakes
in this subatomic world
of myriad particles
where planets dance
and galaxies making hay
rotate in shades of silence
beyond the range
of any curious scope while all
the snowflakes in the lamplight here
are stars, each one a masterpiece
of crystal jewel delight
a diamond carved with infinite concern
by some old craftsman hunching to his task
while just outside
all the stars are ecstasy
exploding in the unpolluted air
into the unspoilt darkness of the night
making the mind-
before a whiff of such great mastery
in macro and in micro time and space-
come over sudden faint
Poems
poems
are shadows
of
the mind
silhouettes
of thought
puppets
playing
on the sheet of consciousness
impish and grey
with a look of permanent surprise
written across his face
the ultimate neurotic
moves with lightning spurts
and then is still
like frame by frame analysis
of action replay
he moves head first
down his tree
or soars
-with all the speed that stopping every yard
allows an organism-
into its branches
munching acorns held
like pious medals in superstitious hands
and with creative phobias for everything
even his tail
he seems to be constantly caught in the act
and claiming innocence
All the Stars are Snowflakes
all the stars are snowflakes
in this subatomic world
of myriad particles
where planets dance
and galaxies making hay
rotate in shades of silence
beyond the range
of any curious scope while all
the snowflakes in the lamplight here
are stars, each one a masterpiece
of crystal jewel delight
a diamond carved with infinite concern
by some old craftsman hunching to his task
while just outside
all the stars are ecstasy
exploding in the unpolluted air
into the unspoilt darkness of the night
making the mind-
before a whiff of such great mastery
in macro and in micro time and space-
come over sudden faint
Poems
poems
are shadows
of
the mind
silhouettes
of thought
puppets
playing
on the sheet of consciousness
© Jean & Katharine Le Mée 2006