Taste and See
A Review of
Evangeliaries: Poems
Philip Kolin
Paperback: Angelico Press, 2024
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Reviewed by Brenda Eatman Aghahowa
By way of his latest collection, Evangeliaries: Poems, Philip C. Kolin invites the reader to an exquisite literary feast of spiritual deliciousness. Those who choose to partake of his many victual courses will be nourished, strengthened, enlightened, empowered, and delighted by ancient spiritual lessons applied to contemporary times.
For those unfamiliar with the 17th century term, as explained on the book’s back cover, an evangeliary is “a book of only those portions of the Gospel[s], Acts of the Apostles, and Old Testament texts that would be read at a Mass on a particular Sunday or a Holy Day. These books were extremely ornate, using rich colors, gold bindings, artful calligraphy, and highly emblematic covers. Among those emblems were, not surprisingly, drawings of the four evangelists whose Gospels were read, cathedrals, crosses, and Marian symbols, and even portraits of princes who sponsored and donated these beautiful books.”
Kolin’s work mirrors the spirit of an evangeliary, both in presentation and content. The front and back covers fully capture the feel of this type of liturgical volume, featuring calligraphy and drawings of various winged creatures. St. Luke is represented as an ox with wings and St. John as a soaring eagle. Each poem alludes to or is rooted in a “Biblical image, figure, parable, place or trope.” The learned poet describes his inspiration by sometimes using Latin terms, such as Oremus (for poems about various types and ways to pray), and at other times uses the unadorned language of John Bunyan. The collection’s five divisions (Beginnings, Holy Books & Theological Virtues, Metaphors & Keys, Oremus, and Life’s Last Country) take one on a spiritual pilgrimage spanning experiences from birth to death.
The reader must savor this meal slowly, pausing at points to pray, at other moments to praise or sing, and in other instances to reflect. A palate of sophisticated spiritual tastes will be required to fully appreciate some of what is offered, as there are no processed snacks here, only the grass-fed meat, healthy sides, and fruits of the Word, and of the life of faith. For, while one is compelled to glorify God over Kolin’s stunning depictions of seasonal natural beauty (“Praying with God’s Second Book,” 59), and laugh with nuns, who with childlike glee meet God in the thin air between heaven and earth during a carnival ride (“Three Sisters on a Tilt-A-Whirl,” 56), one also will experience the full gamut of challenging emotions. These include sadness, and even righteous indignation and guilt, when forced to face into our dehumanization of the homeless and those aging alone.
Throughout his work, Kolin’s skillful use of powerful imagery, effective enjambment, and manipulation of language put on full display his expert poetic craftsmanship. In “Angels” (10), our senses are engaged as we visualize celestial beings in their splendor:
They wear jewelry of fire and polished
beryl; and golden belts from Uphaz;
and glimmer in a rainbow of colors—
from Marian Blue to celadon to coral rose.
Unseen spirits, they don human faces
and costumes when as messengers
delivering birth announcements—
to Abraham at the terebinth of Mamre,
to a speechless, doubting Zechariah,
and to the virgin at her prie-dieu.
A master of antithesis and alliteration, Kolin reminds us of fire as being both destructive and calming, depending upon whether it emanates from “Gehenna’s burning pit for those falling principalities,” or is gentle, “as in Lent, when wax-weeping candles accompany our prayers” (“Fire,” 12). This poem, and so many others in this collection, cause the lyrics and notes of beloved Christian musical pieces to spring to mind during digestion breaks of Kolin’s luscious, artistic meal. In this instance, strains of, “But Who May Abide (the day of His coming),” from Handel’s oratorio, Messiah, filled this writer’s heart. Handel’s aria is based on Mal. 3:2, and the notion that God is a refining fire.
Jarring juxtaposition occurs in, “The Cloister” (53), when a beautiful convent, where peace abounds and the “air tastes like prayers,” is demolished:
A blessing for over a century and a half,
but today the long arms of steely cranes
and rowdy bulldozers brawl
to break the silence of this house.
The reader encounters the rhetorical device antimetabole in “Bread” (34), as Kolin depicts the act of receiving the host or Communion wafer:
Down long aisles, to the altar with bent
heads, we open our mouths to receive
mystery: this bread we consume
now consumes us…
Images and reminders from long-ago Sunday School lessons fill the head as we are commanded in “Parables” (25) to trim our lamps, be a light on a hilltop, scatter seeds, and pour new wine into new wineskins. Oh yes. We must not forget the significance of a lost coin, a lost sheep, or a lost son.
While either leading us to begin or to renew an acquaintance with the Pink Sisters (Holy Adoration Sisters, who wear rose-colored tunics to symbolize joy in the Holy Spirit), Kolin won’t let us forget that “Grace” (26) is
God’s gift, unexpected, unmerited,
unmatched; flush with faith, favor,
fervor, forgiveness, leading us out
of captivity. Restoring song to our lips.
The reader is summoned by Kolin in other verse compositions to hear campaniles pealing “Ave, Maria” (47), to read vertical typography about the guiding star of Epiphany (49), to reflect upon the faith of Catherine of Siena and of various Christian martyrs, and to celebrate the work of those who shelter women and children from angry men who “battered so many commandments” (71).
We are called to laud feeders of the homeless,
who are often invisible
under bridges, tucked into flee-lined,
bedrolls, or over grates on soul-chilling nights (67).
One is pained inside when thinking about the old man who bemoans his fate as “an orphan with a walker,” whose career has ended and whose posterity refuses to claim him. We are comforted as Kolin’s book ends, though, knowing that, while we are “Walking toward Eternity” (90), “We Are Awaited” eagerly in the soothing light of heaven (93).
One cannot begin to plumb the full richness of Kolin’s work in a brief narrative of this kind. Rather, each reader is invited to simply dine on this sumptuous repast.
Brenda Eatman Aghahowa
Brenda Eatman Aghahowa is an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ and Professor Emerita of English of Chicago State University. A prolific writer, she has published on Black worship, Black language, and the oratory of the late Texas Congresswoman Barbara Jordan. She resides in south suburban Chicago.
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