- The Letters of Ann Griffiths (1776–1805), and: The Visions of Margery Kempe
The Letters of Ann Griffiths (1776–1805)
In the light of her exceptional spiritual experiences, Dolwar Fach in Ann's day was a meeting place of time and eternity, of heaven and earth.
–E. Wyn James
She would sometimes roll on the ground … she shone with greater intensity and prominence in spiritual religion than anyone I saw during my lifetime.
–John Hughes
Dear John,
The word has entered me again—broad day— / but the doubts gnawing still—is a partial
glimpse—a breath, a sigh, true visitation? / Ruth insists again on calling herself
maidservant, but am I called to her / sister, though the priests of the English church
warn against women's mouths, the king against / leveling. Warfare hot now as ever—
A Rose of Sharon, a flame. A spiked hart piercing my side. This red buzzing, this gold ringing in my head, this harmony of wings fluttering under my skin. My God:God who is the dove, God the whisperer.
The bright melody presses into me / from all sides—and I fracture, I prism.
Enemies within, enemies without, / I'll contend even unto blood—it is the tenor of my broken mind to tell / you—
your dissonant,
your echoing friend—
Dear wanderer,
Ruth has done her part with the cattle and / half the profit will be hers.
The news from [End Page 42]
abroad: there will be no end to fighting, / no mercy, just more boys lured from the fields.
Dissidence, a rattle in the soul, God comes like ink loosed in a cup of water, a tremor, music snaking the veins—I am swallowed up by a host of armed men clattering at my prayers—such a low view
of my religion I have just now, such / corrupt understanding—I fail again
to abide, our one terror: an evil— / Eye of kite could ne'er discern it— howling
inside us.
Yours, contrary to nature—
Oh, brother John,
Of these claims of victory: do not be / seduced. One emperor's speech is as good
as another's. The voices knocked me flat— / Weary, for like bees then come about me—
my heart still shakes at it—by the tavern / at Llanfyllin. There in the dirt—corrupt
in essence—I saw the sound, scented it: / fine gold at last. Take good care: God appears
not always to the sight, but also to / the hearing—eye and right hand flinging from
me. Listen to your loom, to the shadow / of blue evening palming, veiling our heads.
Fragrance of valerian, the Word, sea salt. Do not claim I failed to warn you—no tyranny on a foreign field that does not return with the soldiers. Do
not misunderstand where the battle is.
From one who is winging swiftly toward the unseen world that lasts forever—your Ann [End Page 43]
The Visions of Margery Kempe
The first woman to record her biography in English, Margery Kempe (c. 1373– 1440) fought lust, ambition, and vanity during the many years of her visions of Mary, Jesus, and the Devil. She traveled widely from her home in King's Lynn, East Anglia, and her fellow pilgrims often attempted to lose her along the way because of her incessant spiritual weeping.
I
The first was love, a voice beyonddevil's fangs in my birthing sheets,my breast, their tongues lapping the sweatfrom my skin. I stood at the pier—it seemed to me— waves baptizingmy linen shift— no one's creature—bereft of speech. The fiercenessof it— my husband swore I chewedmy way to the bone of my ownhand, and the wound festered. Tied, then,by the wrists, [End Page 44] my son spiritedaway. A priest for my cleansing—Beelzebub sat on his tongue,and he backed away from the smell,blood and milk, would not endure myconfession. The sin chattered onthe red silk sang among the pleats of my best skirthanging at the open window—I begged for darkness, for silence,and suddenly all fell still— Christ,at my feet, in his purple robes,my own lover, whispering why...