I step into your world, to escape the noise of mine— shouting, crowding, drunken reeled, refrains, and riots— Noise, this rumbling, endless grunge of mechanical sound, the ceaseless voice of building up, breaking down voices announcing selves, if only to be heard— Retreating, I close the latticed doors behind me, approach your quiet life so I can tune my ears to peace, a heavenly calm, a place where pins don’t drop and lights and sounds are low. HALLELUJAH they cry IN EXCELCIS DEO they send all their glory— above the muffled sheep the brass cuts sharp and clear through silent, stormy nights, a blast of glorious day waking shepherds, waking kings, waking priests, waking wanderers. Bursting at you, from you, shouts and lays and anger underscore your life, yet framed in gaudy noise you carried peace within, enough to hold, to share, to make in me a place where not a wave can reach.
The BYU Museum of Art hosts regular Monday night tours, leading students and patrons through a portion of a gallery and discussing certain pieces or aspects in more depth than a museum-goer usually gets. During one of those tours, my family looked at this piece as we were told to consider the differences between the serene depiction of the Nativity and the gaudy, gilded, extravagant frame, covered in gold ribbons and cherubs. This poem should mix the loudness and quietness of Christ’s life and message into one.
This poem first appeared in Behold the Man, a poetic walk through Brigham Young University Museum of Art’s Of Souls and Sacraments religious art exhibit.