I’ll certainly try—*spoiler alert* for those who have not read! The ending is so trippy and ends abruptly, much like how he ends The Great Divorce and The Last Battle. They are the “eucatastrophes” that are too much for us to understand or handle, and it almost feels like it’s too much for Lewis too, like he’s writing something beyond what he can explain. But she is totally undone when she finally sees herself for who she really is (Ungit), and then when she sees who He is making her to be (beautiful—“and you too shall be Psyche”), and then when she sees Psyche again who is all forgiveness, and then finally when she feels Him approaching. And then that’s all we get, vision over! Her last words are “long did I hate you, long did I fear you, I might—“… Orual now loves the God she’s burned against all her life.
I love the way the poem brings the two sculptures together in a dance, twining together visually what is in reality separated by space. I love how it moves between dance and fight. But it's the title that really draws me in. It's been a couple of years since I read Till We Have Faces, but it's a book I love. And a book I always wrestle with. I don't really understand it fully-- it's always just a little beyond my grasp. There are more layers of meaning, more mysteries, more veils to be drawn away. And I feel the same way about your poem. I could read it for years and still be discovering new twists, new insights.
Melanie, thank you for this beautiful comment. You helped me to see this poem with new eyes! I also love and wrestle with Till We Have Faces. Did you read my friend Megan's comment? She has a lot of wisdom to offer in understanding the book because she's meditated on it for years -- and she's been working on a concept album in response to the book. I've heard some of those songs performed live, but some are still in the works. I'll try to send it along to you when she finishes it! In the meantime though, thank you for your words here.
Yes, I have read it before. Your poem gave me a new slant, and I have returned to read it again. Is it the immobility that stops the dance? Is that when it becomes war?
I thought of the "rebirth" ceremony in Ungit's house as a Lenten symbol (sitting in the dark). It is not in any way an undoing of sinful motives, but an exercise in pretending to be part of the transformation. Yet, it is also a communal recognition of our need.
Also, the changing of the complaint against the gods, from Part I to Part II (the much smaller scroll) seems to be what 1 Corinthians 4:3-5 tells us to wait for. The complaint is the answer.
And, "Die before you die. There is no chance after."
I love the visual separation on the page depicting the visual and physical separation of the sculptures. The explanation and/or photographs become essential to a real understanding and transcendence of the poem. Transcendence to me meaning here that I can internalize the face of these complimentary colors, opposite each other on the color wheel but adding vitality to one another when combined in composition---even in an open field separated by space. Their tangled lives compliment one another, in tension perhaps, twisted by years, but not at war. Until I read your explanation I didn't understand the spaces in the lines. Now it's brilliantly clear. Nice work! (I also had to research Ungit--not familiar. OH--yes been so long since I read that C.S. book....)
I admit I don't yet grasp the mythology. It is still veiled to me. But I recognize the ceremonial waiting in the dark for the coming death and resurrection.
And later Orual is totally “undone”, unknotted by the Lord. :) love this!
Tell me more! You're the Till We Have Faces expert in my life, truly, I want to know more of what you think of that "undoing!"
I’ll certainly try—*spoiler alert* for those who have not read! The ending is so trippy and ends abruptly, much like how he ends The Great Divorce and The Last Battle. They are the “eucatastrophes” that are too much for us to understand or handle, and it almost feels like it’s too much for Lewis too, like he’s writing something beyond what he can explain. But she is totally undone when she finally sees herself for who she really is (Ungit), and then when she sees who He is making her to be (beautiful—“and you too shall be Psyche”), and then when she sees Psyche again who is all forgiveness, and then finally when she feels Him approaching. And then that’s all we get, vision over! Her last words are “long did I hate you, long did I fear you, I might—“… Orual now loves the God she’s burned against all her life.
Nice riff on C.S. Lewis's observation: "never underestimate the pleasures of resentment"?
Oh my goodness, yes!
Ha, great quote. I don't know that this poem speaks to the pleasures, more the sorrow. Thanks for reading and commenting, Scott!
I love the way the poem brings the two sculptures together in a dance, twining together visually what is in reality separated by space. I love how it moves between dance and fight. But it's the title that really draws me in. It's been a couple of years since I read Till We Have Faces, but it's a book I love. And a book I always wrestle with. I don't really understand it fully-- it's always just a little beyond my grasp. There are more layers of meaning, more mysteries, more veils to be drawn away. And I feel the same way about your poem. I could read it for years and still be discovering new twists, new insights.
Melanie, thank you for this beautiful comment. You helped me to see this poem with new eyes! I also love and wrestle with Till We Have Faces. Did you read my friend Megan's comment? She has a lot of wisdom to offer in understanding the book because she's meditated on it for years -- and she's been working on a concept album in response to the book. I've heard some of those songs performed live, but some are still in the works. I'll try to send it along to you when she finishes it! In the meantime though, thank you for your words here.
Yes, I have read it before. Your poem gave me a new slant, and I have returned to read it again. Is it the immobility that stops the dance? Is that when it becomes war?
Having now reread the book, and returning to your poem, I see the Lent connection even more significant.
I also just re-read the book in the last two weeks. It is such a wilderness story isn’t it? What are other Lenten connections you saw?
I thought of the "rebirth" ceremony in Ungit's house as a Lenten symbol (sitting in the dark). It is not in any way an undoing of sinful motives, but an exercise in pretending to be part of the transformation. Yet, it is also a communal recognition of our need.
Also, the changing of the complaint against the gods, from Part I to Part II (the much smaller scroll) seems to be what 1 Corinthians 4:3-5 tells us to wait for. The complaint is the answer.
And, "Die before you die. There is no chance after."
Yes, it is the “solidifying” (not always a good thing) that stops the dance.
I love the visual separation on the page depicting the visual and physical separation of the sculptures. The explanation and/or photographs become essential to a real understanding and transcendence of the poem. Transcendence to me meaning here that I can internalize the face of these complimentary colors, opposite each other on the color wheel but adding vitality to one another when combined in composition---even in an open field separated by space. Their tangled lives compliment one another, in tension perhaps, twisted by years, but not at war. Until I read your explanation I didn't understand the spaces in the lines. Now it's brilliantly clear. Nice work! (I also had to research Ungit--not familiar. OH--yes been so long since I read that C.S. book....)
I like how you noted the "face of these complimentary colors" -- faces figure heavily in the mythology
I admit I don't yet grasp the mythology. It is still veiled to me. But I recognize the ceremonial waiting in the dark for the coming death and resurrection.
Verrrryyyy interesting that you said it is "veiled to you." Have you read Till We Have Faces, Jerry? Thanks for reading this and commenting!