Angelus News | April 21, 2023 | Vol. 8 No

(Paraclete Press, $20), her 10th book
of verse. One of the first poems in the
book, “The Storm Chaser,” documents
what she saw that first morning
while running: “I see you in your
boat, tall brown / man that you are,
standing in the prow, / arms raised
in supplication to the skies, / windwhipped
tunic blowing wild & high.”
The arresting image is followed by
the fact that the man’s companions on
the boat “have hit the deck and now
lie prone / on the sodden wood, dumb
as stone / and waiting for what surely
is the end.”
While the wind tumults the sea,
O’Donnell is transfixed by this man:
“You alone are all might, pure motion
/ in the shape of a god, this small
ocean / no match for your infinite
love — for them, / for the sky, for the
sea. And, yes, even for me.”
The man depicted in the poem
was a real man — a fisherman who
O’Donnell watched survive a sharp
storm — and yet the man was also
Jesus. One theme of “Holy Land” is
that Jesus is among us, and not merely
in spirit. Her poetry suggests that Jesus
is among us in body.
Appropriately enough, as a poet,
O’Donnell has been distinctly formed
by Christ’s crucifixion. In her poem
“The First Art,” she writes: “The
rough wood splits and yaws / worn
smooth in places / where hands,
heads, buttocks, feet / of the crucified
before Christ / rubbed and writhed
and rested.” She has described the
Catholic reaction to the crucifixion as
a “complex mingling of fear and pity,
guilt and gratitude, happiness and
horror.” Those contrasting, powerful
emotions created the need for poetry
above all other art forms.
Thomas Merton, the Catholic poet
and Trappist monk, once lamented
that although Catholics have such
a rich poetic tradition, many were
ignorant of their literary forebears. As
an example, he identified the mystical,
entrancing St. John of the Cross
as “one of the greatest Catholic poets,”
but: “How many Catholics have even
heard of him?”
Catholics should care about poetry,
and I encourage them to encounter
O’Donnell’s work. Her poetry is
notable in both subject and style.
She writes of the mystery of suffering
and the worry of God’s absence.
She does so paying close attention to
the world, and her work manages to
reveal joy while depicting life in an
authentic manner. O’Donnell looks
for Jesus in those she encounters, and
she documents that search — and its
revelations — in her poetry.
In “Holy Land,” her encounters
with Jesus continue upon her return
to America. “Easter Monday” is
the prototypical O’Donnell poem:
light-hearted, yet profound, as well
as skilled and playful in technique.
“Christ comes, a knock on the door
when I least / expect him,” she writes.
“Espresso in hand I pop open / the
screen door that sticks in every kind /
of weather.” He offers her peace, and
joins her for breakfast; they eat “in
the too-small nook, our four knees /
touching beneath the table.”
The narrator and Christ “find / little
to discuss.” The observation might first
appear strange, but it forces us to consider:
How would we receive Christ in
our world? Are we ready to confront
him in the flesh; to wrangle with the
reality of his presence?
O’Donnell ends the poem: “His
lined / face says he knows what we
don’t say. / I ask him if this time he
plans to stay.” Her concluding rhyme
links the final two lines, and punctuates
the poem as a prompt for the
reader. O’Donnell’s poem is emotionally
inviting rather than intellectual;
it compels me to ponder my relationship
with Christ in a visceral way.
She accomplishes similar power in
“The Land of All Souls,” written for
Nov. 2. O’Donnell’s most memorable
work is both surprising and strange —
a counter to the mundane appearance
of life. “They are here with us at the
breakfast table,” the poem begins,“sitting
in our chairs, buttering their
toast, / the knives heavy in their airy
hands.” The departed are unable to
eat; food, after all, is “for the living.”
Instead, the souls “drift past us to the
window seat. / They survey the days as
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if making plans.”
Ultimately, the souls “do what they
always do, / stay here with us.” Those
who have passed from this world
“know they are loved, / seen and
acknowledged by their flesh & blood.
/ They move through the day with us,
side by side. / They almost believe
they’re alive.”
The poem manages to be both
melancholy and moving at the same
time — a work that reveals the unique
nature of Catholic poetry. The Catholic
poet documents the travails of this
world — suffering, confusion, fear —
with an eye toward our saving grace.
Poetry extends the liturgy beyond
church walls. In writing and reading
poetry, Catholics engage in a form
of prayer and contemplation. “Holy
Land” is a worthy companion on that
pilgrimage.
Nick Ripatrazone is culture editor for
Image journal and the author of several
books of fiction, poetry, and literary
criticism. His most recent book, “The
Habit of Poetry: The Literary Lives
of Nuns in Mid-century America,” is
available for pre-order at Fortress Press
($28.99).
April 21, 2023 • ANGELUS • 27