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The Poem of Assisi – 1924

Music: Canon – Johann Pachelbel (1653 -1706)
Émile Ripert’s trips to Italy had a profound influence on him.
It was Assisi that marked him deeply and it was there that he had the revelation of the genius of poverty embodied in Saint Francis.

The sweets of Assisi seemed secondary to him, and THE POEM OF ASSISI overflows with religious inspiration.

"It is to all believers and non-believers that I dare to entrust the fate of this book; and I took the liberty of telling them the somewhat strange story, to indicate to them that this work, if it was not born from the current upheaval of consciousness, nevertheless seemed to already foresee the thirst for gold, which has corrupted for so many generous souls. "


Francois wedding.

Saint Francis marries Poverty….

Each of them as witnesses chose two apostles;
Job comes to this feast and says, “I am one of you! "
The angels are at the organ, and, among the light,
It is Jesus who officiates at the altar himself.

Very pure poets have come from very far;
Dante leads their choir, which smells of ambrosia;
Each brings a little poetry;
Here is the simple and sweet Verlaine in a corner,
Here is old Tostoi rolling up his sleeves,

Mistral singing its old, disinherited patois;
Ah! the beautiful day… The heavens towards the earth lean…
The bells ring as on Sunday morning;
Ah! the beggars, ah! cold dying … this is Summer! …
Wave bouquets, palms and branches… ..

Saint Francis marries Poverty …

The cicada

“My brothers, listen to our sister, the Cicada….

She is small, she is familiar and frugal;
And, without any vain desire to be seen,
All day long, hanging in the hollow of a black tree,
She sings … But can we say that she sings?

But the cicada knows nothing but to repeat
Two notes, don't know anything, my brothers, what to rub
The two membranes of its wings against each other,
Now while the sky on all blondes
Shine and may the sun hold the overwhelmed fields,
She alone, above the wild wheat fields,
While all is silent, things, and beings,
The pines, the olive trees, the roads, the windows,
When nothing has the strength to move anymore,
She alone, humbly, indefatigably,
It makes the air, the sky and the stone resound,
And it looks like she's the sound of light;
Knowing how little she can do and doing it,
She alone, piercing the azure with such an accent
May her prayer reach God above all,
The voice of the furrows that goes to the celestial vaults,
She alone, along the even blue day,
She said, “Praise God! Praise God! Praise God! ……


The Cricket

“My brothers, listen to our sibling, the Cricket…
It’s small, it’s familiar, unrevealing of its asset;
And it has no desire to be seen, out of humility,
Hiding within, all day long, the trunk of a black tree,
It is singing… Yet can it be said that it is singing?

Apart from endlessly repeating, it knows nothing,
Always the same note, my brothers, while it’s rubbing
The two membranes of its wings one against the other,
Yet, as the sky over the blond wheat fields would rather
Shine and as the sun keeps the ground heavy with heat,
The Cricket alone, well beyond the wild fields of wheat,
Over all things and all beings, a lasting silence holds,
Over the pine and olive trees, the windows and the roads,
When all things are too weak, when all is as still as a stone,
Humbly and tirelessly it is the Cricket, the Cricket alone
Who grants the air, the stones and the sky their echo
And it seems it gives the very light its own tempo,
It knows no other skills but it is simply excellent
At giving this light blue landscape a piercing accent;
Let its prayer reach God, let it reach him first,
From the fields up the holy heavens, it will traverse,
Vibrating through a evenly blue day as a vocal chord,
Gently whispering: “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! …


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