The Poetry Of Terry Waite

August 6, 2018

On 19 July, we held an event with Terry Waite, where he spoke about his books Out of the Silence and Solitude. He spoke with great humility, kindness, and compassion. Many in attendance were young when he was captured and detained. They prayed for his release.

On our blog today, Terry has chosen some of his favourite poems from Out of the Silence, and provided notes on what each poem meant to him. 

During the years of my captivity, I had no pen or pencil and so all my writing had to be done in my head.

I wrote a number of poems and most of them have been lost as they have faded from memory.
On my release I continued to write and below is a small selection from a book of poems and narrative entitled Out of the Silence.
Night time can be a lonely place for many people. Those who are suffering illness or those who languish in a prison cell can find it especially difficult. The following poem speaks of some of the terrors of the night.

AT NIGHT

In the silent recesses of night
All without is still.
The fever of life is over,
The busy world is hushed.
In the silent recesses of night
All is still.
In the silent recesses of night
My eyes close.
Fever over,
World hushed.
Deep within,
In the dark recesses of soul,
Fever rages.

Be still my soul,
Be still.
Be at one with your creator,
Healer,
Father,
Mother,
Giver of life.
In the silent recesses of night,
Across the ocean of dreams,
Fear stalks my soul.
The waters are deep;
There is no chart.
In feverish haste I reach out;
Hold me,
Hold me,
Then I shall be still.

In the silent recesses of night
I sleep.
The ocean calms,
Stillness enters my soul.
Stillness within,
Stillness without,
A restless stillness.

In the silent recesses of night
I sleep alone.
Alone on the ocean,
Longing to be held,
Longing to be safe,
Longing to be healed.
The fever of life is over.
The busy world is hushed.
I rest in my creator,
But for a moment.
Heal me O God.
Without you I drown.

--

To be homeless can be a bitter experience for many. Those who live on the streets gradually begin to lose their dignity as human beings and also lose respect for themselves. Whenever I meet with the homeless I remember that they have as much right to live a full life as I have.

The Emmaus movement with which I am associated enables individuals to regain their dignity and begin to live a fuller life.

HOMELESS

Words elude me.
I search for words
That will capture
The depth of my feeling.
That will hold within their shape
The pictures in my mind
And preserve them
Until the page fades
And dies,
As I shall die.

I see faces,
Many faces.
Unshaven,
Scarred.
Eyes.
Eyes that once sparkled with the innocence of childhood;
Eyes that once held promise;
Eyes now dulled
By the bitterness of life.

The room is full of faces.
They look at me
Quizzically,
Welcoming;
Each face holds a story
Of a life
That meanders aimlessly
Along grimy streets
Seeking scraps of meaning
Amongst the dereliction
Of the city.

I sit on a rough bench
With my ragged companions.
Some smile,
The wistful smile
Of souls
Condemned ever to wander,
Lost in the wilderness of mortal time,
Waiting for that day,
That hour,
When the flickering light
Will be no more

My neighbour
Meticulously packs scraps of food
Into a plastic package.
Her head remains bowed.
The beauty of her face,
Enhanced by sadness,
Carries within it a lifetime of suffering.
A voice from across the table addresses me:
'She's blind you know'.

--

Uganda, where I lived for some years is a lovely country with friendly, hospitable people. In company with many other African countries it has had its fair share of difficulties but it has survived. This poem attempts to capture something of the spirit of that great Continent.

LAKE VICTORIA

An early morning mist,
Spreading like tattered cotton sheets
Across Lake Victoria.
The silence at dawn
When slowly
The horizon emerges
From slumber
And a thousand colours
Dispel
The blackness of night.
The pungent odour of damp earth.
Earth that gave life.
Earth to which we shall return.
A gecko,
Motionless on a window pane,
Waiting to strike
As Africa waits
To smite the unwary.
Thin wisps of smoke
Spiral upwards
Into the once black sky.
A baby cries.
A skeleton of a dog,
Eyes ablaze,
Scavenges,
As all Africa scavenges,
For life.
A woman,
Busuti clad,
Sings as she walks.
An old man,
White kanzu,
Black coat,
Leans heavily on a gnarled stick.

Now the tattered mist
Is no more.
Now the colours have faded.
Now the red dust swirls through the air
As the sun pursues
Its merciless trek
Across the heavens.
A new day
Is born
As the dog scavenges
And the old man
Leans on his gnarled stick.

--

For those not familiar with East Africa, Basuti is a traditional dress of many African women introduced into that country, I believe, by the Victorians. A Kanzu is a long white robe principally worn by Mugandan men.

Every human being will face suffering in their lives. Some people suffer more than others through no fault of their own but I am a believer that in most cases suffering need not destroy. Often something creative can emerge from the experience. However, suffering remains a mystery and this poem says just that.

YOU ASK ME WHY?

You ask me why
The innocent suffer,
A child dies at birth,
A father remains
As sole provider,
A victim cries
When vandals
Destroy his home?
You ask me why
And I am silent.

Suffering stalks the land
Striking whom it will
With inhuman vengeance
And bloody force.

You ask me why?
And I am silent.
I take your hand in mind
As together
We tread the pathway of sorrow.
No words suffice
At this time of anguish.

--

Karl Jenkins is one of the most widely performed composers of modern times. Some years ago he invited me to submit some words which he then set to music for the soprano solo in his work ‘The Peacemakers’.

Here they are:

PEACE . . .

Peace is the fragile meeting
Of two souls in harmony.

Peace is an embrace
That protects and heals.

Peace is a reconciling
Of opposites.
Peace is rooted in love,
It lies in the heart,
Waiting to be nourished,
Blossom
And flourish,
Until it embraces the world.

May we know the harmony of peace,
May we sing the harmony of peace,
Until in the last of days,
We rest in peace.