The Monastic City
(Glendalough)
[Foreword: This poem is an imaginative presentation of life and motivation in a mediæval monastery. It should not be considered as an expression of the author’s personal religious beliefs.
Parts (i) and (xviii) together make a complete poem. Parts (ii) -(xvii) form a quasi-historical parenthesis within it. (This narrative describes a routine event that could have occurred on any day between c.800 to c.1650 AD).
St Kevin established the monastery at Glendalough c.600 AD. It was probably suppressed during the Crowellian Supremacy (c.1650) in Ireland. Only the tall, conical-roofed Round Tower — with its door situated some 12 feet or more above the ground — remained intact when I visited the site in 1983.
Colmcille is the Irish name for St Columba who is famous for confronting the Loch Ness monster and for converting much of Scotland and Northern England to Christianity. The name also refers to the monastic site which he founded at Derry in Ireland that became an important shrine for pilgrims to visit.]
i.
Between this river and that stream
The small monastic city stands:
Beneath high, brooding mountains steep
Close-wooded craggy slopes, down which
Leap white, wild waterfalls that soon
Will mingle with the darkly-smooth
And placid lakes, or add their force
To those more violent, more calm
Effusions of pure purity —
The rushing cataracts and prayers —
That wash the walls which Kevin built.
How beautiful, upon my eyes,
The colours of this place!. Here green
Of grass, here darker green of gorse;
And there, green-almost-blue of pines.
Mixed with those greens are browns of earth,
Dull sedge and faded bracken-ferns;
Contrasting them, the solemn greys
Of lichened boulders, glooming blacks
Of wind-scoured peaks and valley-scarps.
All are reflected on the face
Of peat-dark lakes and seem to add
A strange translucency to them,
Metamorphosising their tones
To almost-pastel shades of smooth
And shimmering delightfulness,
Enhanced by subtle tints of blue
And white drawn from the sky and clouds.
ii.
My mind flies back, through centuries!.
Into this valley of serene
And isolated calm, there rides
A cavalcade of pilgrims who
Seek shelter from the coming night.
Their route is muddy, treacherous
And overhung by sullen trees
But, as the sun declines behind
The looming mountains to the West,
They reach the monastery gates
And ask for hospitality,
As is the custom at such sites.
Admitted to the precincts they
Surrender, temporarily,
Their weapons which they should not need
Whilst in this place of holy calm
And meditative peace, sheltered,
By defensive walls against rude
Bandit groups that, if they could — for
In the Irish countryside, far
From the fortified large towns
And cities, the rule of lawful
Conduct is often unobserved —
Would murder, pillage and erase
Such sites and all their occupants.
No sooner done, a monk arrives
To greet, instruct and guide them. He
Is cordially jovial.
iii.
“Hello!. I’m Brother Dominic,
Deputed by the Prior to be
Your guide-companion while you
Enjoy such hospitality
Our monastery can afford.
(Speaking of which, if you so wish,
A voluntary donation —
However small — to help defray
Our costs would be most gratefully
Accepted, for we are not rich.
I’ll say no more than that, because
Such mercenary matters have
A low priority for us
And all we offer you is free
Of any monetary charge).
We welcome pilgrim-guests like you
And wish to make your period
Of residence — however long
Or short it be — as pleasant as
Our limitations will allow.
So first, (although I realise
You will be weary from your ride
Along that fraught road through this wild
And unprovisioned glen), before
The darkness falls, I’ll shew you what
You need to see and know…
This is
The gatehouse, where we’re standing now,
And over it you’ll find the room
That you will occupy. Later,
You can explore it at your ease.
Meanwhile, please follow me…”.
iv.
“This is
The refectory where you’ll eat
In company with us and hear
The lector reading passages
From holy texts to edify
Our souls with spiritual food
Whilst bodies’ hungers are assuaged.
(We dine in silence, you should know,
So that attention to the words
Read by the lector are absorbed
Without profane distraction. Please
Observe this rule during our meals).
Above this refectory are
The dormitories where we monks
Take our repose in cubicled
Compartment-cells for privacy.
Beside this building you can see
The kitchen and the bakery
Where simple but nutritious fare
And fresh bread are prepared each day.
The granary, here, stores the grain
We cultivate outside the walls
And harvest in late Summertime.
We grind it into flour in this
Mill-shed to make our daily bread”.
v.
“Just over there — set far apart
From other buildings to reduce
The risk of fire from it spread
To other places — you can see
The smithy where, if need be, we
Can make new horseshoes or, perhaps,
Some other metal articles
That we, or travellers, might need.
(We also use it to maintain
A few hand-weapons, for we are,
Though peaceable, subject to threats
From bands of lawless robbers who
Would steal all that we have, if we
Could not defend ourselves from them)”.
vi.
“And here’s the church, the focal point
Of our existence at this site.
Here we assemble every day —
Eight times in all! — to celebrate
Those Offices our Order’s rules
Prescribe.
For your convenience —
Since this place is in constant use —
We have reserved for you that small
Side-chapel where, at any time
You want, you can say your own prayers
Without fear of disturbing us.
Should you desire a Mass be said
For your intentions, simply tell
Me and I will arrange it for
A time that suits your wishes best.
Beyond that little wall is found
The hallowed ground in which are laid
The last mortal remains of those
Of us who’ve gone to meet our God
After a lifetime, in this place,
Of service to His Majesty”.
vii.
“Here is the carpentry beside
The masons’ workshop. In these sheds
We carve materials, (both wood and stone),
To maintain building-structures and
Embellish them with works of art;
Statues and paintings that, also,
We sell to those who want to buy.
The money gained enables us
To pay for raw materials
And food required for our own needs”.
viii.
“And here’s the tower, built to be
Of triple usefulness; for first
It points to where our thoughts should be,
In Heaven with our God; second,
It serves as refuge when rough bands
Of rude marauders — godless men! —
Sometimes invade in search of loot
Or food to satisfy their greed;
Thirdly, it is the place we use
As penitentiary for those
Of our community whose faults —
Of flesh, morals or discipline —
Offend our Order’s rules in ways
Too scandalously. For, although
We strive to make ourselves more like
The angels and the saints, we are
Mere men whose innate faults sometimes
Surpass our will to overcome
Temptation’s malign influence”.
ix.
“Here are the stables where we keep
Some horses we can sell to those
Who need a remount to proceed
Towards their journey’s end elsewhere.
These are the cattlesheds, close by
The dairy and, beside them, you
Can see our sheepfold. Cattle give
Not only meat and leather, milk
And cheese to us, but also haul
Our ploughs and carts. And from the sheep
We also get meat, milk and cheese,
As well as wool from which we weave
Our garments. From their skins we make
The vellum pages of our books.
(The abattoir, the tannery
And looms are just behind their sheds)”.
x.
“Just over here we have the school
Wherein we teach our novices
The Orders rules, the Offices
We daily pray and how to write
And read; as well as the techniques
Of metalwork, sculpture, painting —
To fresco walls or decorate
Statues: the cleverest of them
Will illustrate the manuscripts
We make and sell for profit here —
As well as practical advice
On methods to improve the yields
From agriculture and the care
Of our domestic animals”.
xi.
“Now we are back, after our tour,
Where we began; the gatehouse. Come
With me to view where you will sleep.
But first, here just beside the stairs,
This hand-pump by the trough
Is where you can wash off the stains
Of travel or refresh yourselves
With water suitable to drink.
Now let us mount aloft to see
The room where you will pass your nights.
And here it is, quite large enough
For twenty persons. (To provide
A modicum of privacy
For females, you can draw across
Its width that curtain which you see).
The straw is freshly changed each week —
Most recently two days ago —
So you should not be bothered by
Insects or other nuisances.
And here’s the neccessarium
Where you may deal with bodily
Imperatives when you have need.
We eat within the hour, so you
Have time to organise yourselves
Before I come again to lead
You to the refectory room.
Till then, I leave you to yourselves!”.
xii.
“Hello, again!. It’s Dominic,
Come to conduct you to your meal.
I hope you’ll like the food; it’s plain
But palatable fare, wholesome
And designed for healthful living;
Mainly comprised of cereals
And fish since red meat, in excess,
Is not thought good for we who must
Struggle each day to keep control
Of our base appetites. (Red meat
Is thought — by those who are well versed
In alimentary concerns —
To boost the carnal in the blood,
Thereby disturbing innate calm
And weakening defence against
Fleshly temptations that can lead
To spiritual compromise).
There’s also bread and vegetables,
Of course, washed down with fresh-brewed ale —
Or water, if you should prefer,
Straight from the cistern that is fed
By conduits from those streams that flow
Beside the outer walls that mark
This holy site’s perimeter —
So you should be well satisfied
When you have finished your repast!.
As I told you before, you must
Be silent while we eat. Absorb the words
Read by the lector and reflect —
As sinners in this fallen world —
Upon their meaning for yourselves.
After the meal I’ll bring you back
Here to your lodging-place. Then we,
(If you so wish), can talk of what
You will. Myself would like to hear
How you have fared upon you way,
Your destination and some news
Of that wide world, beyond these walls,
That is of useful interest
Or even more significance”.
xiii.
“Well, here we are again, returned
To your place of repose. I trust
The meal was satisfactory
And quite sufficient for your needs.
So, let us settle on this straw
Whilst you recount in my keen ears
Whatever news you care to tell.
So, you have come from Arklow now
And travel on to Colmcille —
The sacred site of Ceannas Mor! —
Tomorrow morning once the sun
Has cleared the early mists that hang
Like blinding blankets overhead?.
That is a journey worth the ride
Since, from it, you should all obtain
Indulgences and Benefits
Enough to keep you in God’s Grace
For many years to come!. No doubt
The incidents that mark your days
Of travel there will also teach
Much wisdom and experience
Of what occurs beyond the walls
That bound your homes and properties.
But for myself, this blessed spot
Is all I need of of mundane sights
To satisfy my simple mind”.
xiv.
“Here isolated from the world —
Its violence, its cruelty
And greedy selfishness, which so
Mar secular society —
A man can find the time to think
Less of himself and more of God,
If he has strength of mind enough
To overcome, (through disciplined
Control of human frailties by
Rigorous privations, ordained
By our monastic Order’s rules
That ban all luxuries), the sins
Of self-indulgent pride and greed.
When in the depths of Winter-time
You go into the church and join
Your brothers in the communal
Recital of the Offices —
Your freezing feet unsocked and shod
Only in open sandals, your
Threadbare gown no protection
From icy draughts, your aching knees
Bent to the damp, hard flagstone floor —
Then your own faith, in what you do
And why, is tried to limits that
The most pious lay man would not
Choose to experience, but once!.
Compline, Matins and Lauds are worst,
For they are said when cold and damp
Are fiercest in the depth of night
And early dawn, when swirling mists
Invade your bones or stormblasts chill
Your blood!. It’s then that you must will
Yourself to offer to your God
The sacrifice of comfort’s ease!.
(Those who believe that Brothers’ lives,
In quiet monasteries, are
Easy escapes from secular
Complexities have never beeen
Members of such communities!.
For I tell you, this life is hard
For even the most saintly men;
And that’s the reason why they choose
It for themselves — to mortify
Their sinful flesh and its innate
Deficiencies — so that their souls
Are purified and made, at last,
Worthy to offer to their God.
Simple though it may seem to be,
This way of life is not for those
Whose hearts are faint, whose will not strong!.
Though in the balmy Summer nights,
I must confess, to be awake
And giving praises to the One
Creator of the universe —
Its glories of the earth and skies —
Brings such a rapture to the soul
As cannot be described in words.
It is a transcendental joy
That opens up the mental paths
Which lead to renewed faith and trust
That mankind yet may be redeemed!).
Here, in this small community,
We pray and work, and pray and eat,
And pray and sleep, and pray again.
Prayer is the cornerstone of life
At Glendalough. It dominates
All that we do. Some cook and bake
While others are mere scullions.
Some till the fields and tend the beasts
While others fish, or build. Some keep
Accounts, others administer
The monastery’s businesses.
Some brew while, others weave or write
And illustrate our manuscripts.
The tasks are numerous, but you
Should not suppose that every monk
Does only one of them. For we are few
In number — fifty souls at most —
So all the work is organised
In such a manner that the tasks
Each monk must do, (at least three held
Concurrently!), are changed each week.
This system obviates the risks
Of sinful pride in personal
Accomplishment and jealousy
Of others’ allocated work,
Whilst it ensures that we remain
A self-sustaining enterprise.
Nor are there rest days here, we all
Are busy men from dawn to dusk
Throughout the year. Yet still we find
The time to pray eight times each day.
The beauty of this hidden life
Of service in community,
Behind the austere walls that shut
The world out, is that we can find
Acceptance of God’s eminence
Through our rejection of the flesh
And all its selfish, base desires.
For, when you turn your mind to God
And Him alone — when all you do
Is offered as a sacrifice
To His eternal holiness,
And when you pray that other souls
May be redeemed from sin to God —
Then you achieve an inner peace
Beyond normal experience;
A sweet tranquility that fills
Each atom of your being, like
A crystal goblet filled with wine,
The ecstasy received from which
Inspires communion with Him
In contemplation’s mystic mode.
But now I leave you to retire
And take your merited repose.
I trust you will not be disturbed
By ringing of the Office-bell;
But if you are you need not rise.
It is for Brothers, such as I,
To answer to that brazen tone
In the dark watches of the night.
Tomorrow I shall come again
To check that all is well with you.
I bid you all ‘good night’. May God
Watch over you and keep you safe!”.
xv.
Throughout that night the travellers
Slept undisturbed, their rest unstirred
By Compline, Matins, Lauds; although
The solemn tolling of the bell
Summoned the faithful Brotherhood
To their dark vigils in the church:
A confraternity of faith
That sleeps on thoughts of God with ears
Tuned to his frequent calls by long
Years of pious attentiveness.
(If good intentions were enough,
The world would be a better place!).
xvi.
” Good morning all!. I trust you had
A quiet sleep and are refreshed.
It is a fine bright day — or will
Be when the early mist has burned
Away — so let us not waste time
In sending you upon your way.
No doubt you’ll hope to spend this night
At Blessington, if you can reach
The village there before they close
The curfew-gates when dusk descends;
But first you must break fast with us.
It is not good to undertake
A day on horseback without food
Beneath your belts!. It helps you sit
More comfortably in your seats,
Traversing those rough roads towards
The holy House of Colmcille,
When you have eaten well.
Soon you will be upon your way,
And we will pray that no mischance
Befalls you on your pilgrimage
To Colmcille. We trust that you
Will visit us, as you return
From there to your own homes,
To tell us of that holy place
And what adventurous events —
Or other interesting things —
Seem worthy of recount to us.
So let’s to breakfast!. Then to horse!.
The meal will not take long; you’ll have
Good hopes of reaching Blessington
Before the darkness shuts you out!”.
xvii.
So many centuries have passed
Since that brief episode of my
Unbound imagination’s dream,
That history has changed to myth
And legend. Yet this ruined site
Can still evoke the atmosphere
That would have permeated it
In Mediæval times when bands
Of pilgrims crossed the countrysides
Of all the continent in search
Of personal redemption.
Faith
Like theirs is fading fast in these
More secular social ages
Since the sceptic Enlightenment
Proposed alternative beliefs —
Based less on faith than rational
Interpretations of the world
And mankind’s origin and place
Within it — that discredited
The mystic metaphysical
Theologies that once controlled
Whole populations’ minds and thoughts,
Inspiring them to build both
Meditative monasteries —
Plainly austere and functional,
Where prayer and abnegation were
Devoted to redemption’s cause —
And glorious cathedrals where
God could be worshipped in a style
Of ostentatious luxury
Befitting His great majesty,
Attracting crowds from near and far.
xviii.
When I survey this lovely site
Of Glendalough — ‘the glen of lakes’ —
I see why Kevin chose this place
To build a city for his Lord.
The rugged grandeur of the scene
Should teach a heart respect for God
Through sheer appreciation of
This inland island of repose.
Here the high places draw the eyes
From shadowed valley to high crests
Where God’s illuminations flare
From peak to peak at dawn and dusk
And light the lowlands when the sun
Is at its zenith in the sky.
And when the humbled eyes look down,
(Pulled by the plunging waterfalls),
To gaze upon the surfaces
Of these kaleidoscopic lakes,
They see — reflected there anew —
Diminished in intensity
But magnified in potency,
The glories of the light transposed
To shimmering tranparencies;
Much as the human soul might be
A darkened mirror of God’s self!.
And in the islet, where he built
His small retreat from sinfulness
Between this river and that stream,
I think he saw a symbol for
His private faith, (bathed on all sides
By God’s pure-flowing tears of love),
Its imperfections washed away
To leave only simplicity —
As on the day that he was born —
To meet his great Creator’s eye.
The constant sounds of water, too,
Might have suggested, (as to me),
The murmurings of ceaseless prayer
And so commended it to him
As suitable for his design.
Amid surroundings such as these,
Where you can raise your eyes aloft
Or lower them and still perceive
Your God displayed in wondrous majesty,
How could your soul fail to respond to Him?.
[Afternote: The eight services which comprise the Breviary, (or Daily Office), are — in order of recitation from dawn — Matins, Lauds, Prime, Tierce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline.
In some monasteries they were said, in others sung. Each service includes prayers, psalms, lessons, homilies and/or hymns.]