Chartres
John Claiborne Isbell

The Lord descends like colored light on stone

across our being. And the stone is plain

as any Presbyterian. Upon

its massy base, it lifts into the air

in cornice and in pediment, in spire –

to break the sky in two – in flying buttress.

And in the forests and the fruited fields

around the town of Chartres, where the green

and golden crops are dancing, you might find

the rhythm of the year plays out again,

in April as in August. But the hand

that works the fields, does it betray the light

the Lord sheds on our doings? Could it be

that we like a cathedral leave the mire

on our path into air? It may yet be

that like a temple, where the colored glass

looks out into the world, there is a hush

behind our eyes that wander, and the high

vault of our cortex has no other task

than silence at the last. I think it is

quite likely, very likely. And the bare

stone may yet trace a labyrinth for us,

for our slow feet, lit by the colored light

the sun sheds to delight us as we walk.

- - -

Fliss: Welcome back, John, and well met! Here we are again. And here’s the song! W.-B. is playing it on the WM van’s music system.

Word-Bird [singing along]: Here we are again! Happy as can be! All good pals and jolly good company!

John: Well met indeed, W.-B. and Fliss! Jolly good company, yes! I note with interest that the song was recorded at Abbey Road Studios in 1931.

F: Yes, that’s right, John. Almost a hundred years ago! And here’s something even older, at Chartres. You were here very recently, we believe.

J: Indeed, yes! Chartres predates the 1930s by maybe eight hundred years, though it looked very fresh when Rita and I saw it last week!

F: Hooray! Fresh! Now, W.-B. and I are quite taken with the opening of the poem; is it describing something like a stained-glass window?

J: That is indeed what I had in mind! The way the colored light from the windows falls on the bare stone inside the cathedral.

F: And is plain-ness a significant part of Presbyterianism? I’m not sure I know much about it, on the whole.

J: That is an excellent question! So, Cromwell‘s Presbyterian army was big on idol-smashing, taking noses off statues and such. I believe they destroyed a lot of stained glass as well.

F: Oh! We weren’t expecting plain-ness to this extent, John. The expression ‘cut off your nose to spite your face’ comes to mind, but we’re uncertain as to how this might apply to removing noses from statues!

J: Indeed! I think Presbyterians go in for less of that these days, but their churches are less ornate than Catholic ones like Chartres.

F: Yes, you have a number of architectural terms through the first verse, we think? W.-B. and I are not experts in this field, but we recognise the words ‘cornice’, ‘spire’ and ‘flying buttress’; when a buttress is flying, does it incorporate an archway? I might have seen this at Tewkesbury Abbey, many years ago.

J: Yes, Tewkesbury Abbey very likely has flying buttresses on the outside to hold it up. And here, architecture does make an appearance! Flying buttresses are the sort of standing pillars alongside cathedrals with arches linking them to the main structure. Very handy! They stop the cathedral collapsing, since Gothic architecture tends to be all about lines of force and distribution of weight.

F: That’s exactly what I had in mind, John! Practical, and pleasant too. The mention of this feature is effective here, as it draws the eye away from the cathedral and towards the forests and fruited fields. W.-B. and I appreciate the dancing crops. Is the hand there the hand of the farmer or of a higher being?

J: The hand that I had in mind was the hand working the fields, the farmer’s or the laborer’s. It is lit by light, but perhaps not colored light. I like your thought as to the drawing of the eye. Yes indeed, these architectural features are both practical – the building generally doesn’t fall down – and pleasant to the eye! And mostly, they were built by master masons.

F: They must have been very skilled! So, the hand is at a distance from the cathedral in more than its geographical context. And then we return to the cathedral, possibly for an echo of Herbert's ‘The Elixir’? As you know, John, W.-B. and I are not well read, but I remember something about a stained glass window from my A-Level, I think.

W.-B.: “A man that looks on glass, / On it may stay his eye; / Or if he pleaseth, through it pass, / And then the heav’n espy.”

J: I don’t remember that Herbert, though I like him a good deal and the echo does not surprise me. Yes, the fields surround Chartres, and from them, one sees the cathedral looming. On the contrary, you and W.-B., Fliss, know many things.

F: It all sounds delightful, John. And thanks for your kind words! I suppose I know quite a lot about guinea pigs, while W.-B. is something of a pigeon fancier these days. I also think of how the world appears differently through varying lenses and frames. It’s interesting to consider the cortex too. Let’s drive into the labyrinth now. How’s the scenery?

J: Well, the cortex here parallels the high vaulting of the cathedral nave, and the labyrinth is traced on the nave’s floor in black and white stone. It’s been there for centuries. One shuffles through it, mostly, but driving should get us through at breakneck speed! It is, I think, good to appreciate life in its variety, and an openness to different perspectives is a very useful thing indeed.

F: I agree! The labyrinth sounds fascinating and I’m glad to know about it. We should probably try to avoid driving at such speed in a holy setting! W.-B. reassures us she’ll steer clear of any minotaurs we might encounter on our journey, though thankfully it seems unlikely they’d turn up here. What do we see as we approach the glass, please?

J: As we approach the glass, perhaps at a stately speed, we see an intricate variety of colors and figures, dominated by a majestic blue they have had trouble reproducing since the early thirteenth century. They are biblical figures, from Adam and Eve to the Apostles. The church is full of light.

F: Thanks, John! We enjoyed reading that description. The image sounds very special. Have you visited many cathedrals?

W.-B.: And do you have a favourite?

J: I have visited a fair few cathedrals, Fliss and W.-B., across Western Europe mostly. Aged eleven, I arrived at Lincoln at night and the cathedral seemed to float in midair. Florence is wonderful, and Venice is very nice. I grew up in Canterbury. But my favorite is likely Notre Dame in Paris, with Paris around it.

F: We wonder whether you might write a cathedral series! Is this poem from a particular MS?

J: Ah! This is not yet from any particular manuscript, since it’s only about a week old. But I do like your idea of a cathedral series! I’ve been inspired by you to write about my eleven-year-old view of Lincoln, for instance. That will be soon.

F: Hooray! Well, we look forward to reading that. Now, let’s take a quick look at the metrical matters before W.-B. reverses us out of the labyrinth. This is pent, we think, with variations?

J: I do default to pent! Though I’ve been writing tet lately. Here, you are quite correct, as is W.-B.

F: Rejoice! W.-B. is twirling. And as we take our leave from the cathedral, is there any particular piece of music you’d like to hear on the WM van sound system?

J: Maybe some Gregorian chant. I am partial to Salve mater misericordiae.

F: Most apt! Well, off we go now, wonderfully accompanied. Many thanks for the trip, John. We enjoyed it very much indeed!

J: Woo-hoo!

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John Claiborne Isbell is a writer and now-retired professor currently residing in France with his wife Margarita. Their son Aibek lives in California with his wife Stephanie. John’s first book of poetry was Allegro (2018); he also publishes literary criticism, for instance An Outline of Romanticism in the West (2022) and Women Writers in the Romantic Age (April 2025), both available free online. John spent 35 years playing Ultimate Frisbee and finds it difficult not to dive for catches any more!

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Chartres John Claiborne Isbell

Chartres
John Claiborne Isbell