Marye Trim: ‘Benedictus of St Cecilia’s Mass’

“Benedictus” of Saint Cecilia’s Mass
Gwen Harwood Memorial. Wickham Terrace
Anglican Church, Brisbane

White and pure as lilies, a Benedictus dove soars
to time-stained rafters of a loved and hallowed place.
Does ancient Zechariah sing again of blessings
after lengthy months and famine-time of spoken words,
before there came prophetic day of exultation?
Benedictus, Benedictus.

Might the singer be the martyred Saint Cecilia,
patron of all poets and musicians, her heart forever
filled with heavenly music like composer Gounod?
Beyond the sacred space, the grunt and grime of life.
Within, the endless song of healing grace and peace.
Benedictus, Benedictus.

Once there was a special music-maker here, her fingers
caressing keys and stops, feet outstretched to manage
organ pedals, all to raise a paean of joyful praise
that lit the fires of burning faith in prayerful hearts.
A gentle breeze in trees outside gave nature’s affirmation.
Benedictus, Benedictus.

She does not linger. Lured by love, she travels far,
finds herself at the water’s edge. The sacramental wine
is drunk, the woman known. Then children own her days
of toil, dreaming and waking. Wittgenstein, Lehmann,
Stone and Geyer help shape her path and destiny

as wordsmith-enchantress. She practices reflection
to fashion word-plays in her artful brain, sometimes
teasing, setting tests, ever perceiving beyond
the bone, knowing music is far more than mortal flesh.
Each glittering bone assures her she is known.
Benedictus, Benedictus.

See now Cecilia, away from stained glass glow,
a small and pensive figure, shaped from polished,
timeless wood, with organ, book and quill, a symbol.
A shiny plaque reveals the poet’s name, remembered
while the music of her soul flows on in human story.
Benedictus, Benedictus, Benedictus.

Marye Trim