Hormones and a Priest

Most of this month I'm trying to feature poems which had a sizable influence on me or left a long shadow. Here's one I very much identified with in high school: like probably most religious kids, high school was a weird and demanding time for me. Especially coming from a Calvinist background, where rigorous self-examination and ruthless expulsion of sin are some of the highest virtues, sin and guilt and apology were the cornerstones of my faith.


Combine that with rampaging hormones and only Christian friends, I was pretty convinced my soul was in mortal danger just for being a teenager. Still, it had its up sides: I found a lot of comfort in things like this Herbert poem. He was a priest, died at 34, in his last illness sent a book of poems "The Altar" to a friend and asked him to burn it or publish it as he saw fit. (Pretty passive-aggressive if you ask me.) He published it to a lot of acclaim, then 120 years of obscurity before Coleridge revived his literary fortunes.


I'm always interested in how religious orthodoxy and the individualistic, heterodox discipline of poetry play off each other. I think this manages to walk that line real tight.

Sin (I)

George Herbert

Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round!
      Parents first season us; then schoolmasters
      Deliver us to laws; they send us bound
To rules of reason, holy messengers,
Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow-dogging sin,
      Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,
      Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in,
Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,
Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness,
      The sound of glory ringing in our ears,
      Without, our shame, within, our consciences,
Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears.
      Yet all these fences and their whole array
      One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.