Rules, Rules, Rules

One way that religion is depicted in Southern poetry is through using it to show the negative aspects of God and religion. There is a way of being raised that makes religion all about rules and following a certain moral code. When that moral code is broken then punishment is enforced and negative consequences. A few examples of this are by Andrew Hudgins. He shares very honestly from his childhood and his upbringing. Through this he shows how religion was a negative aspect of his life growing up and that be was too smart to buy the stories that the preacher told.

In Sit Still he talks about how the preacher has illogical arguments for why the Bible is true and that the church was a place of rules and constraints where he had to sit still, look ahead, pray and pay attention. The punishment for not doing those things was a pop to the leg from his father. This portrayal of the church sermon is one that makes religion seem overbearing and rules based. Yet the way that he describes the sermon and the traditions of being raised going to church every week are very true to the South. He just gives another perspective that is not such a positive one. This depiction of the Southern religious upbringing is one of ignorant following of rules that are illogical. Hudgins claims that he is too smart to fall for this thinking and that he whishes he was stupid.

Likewise, in Hudgins’ poem When I Was Saved he talks about the rules and rituals of religion. Here he goes on to describe the process by which people are saved. There is an alter call, the running up the aisle, a prayer, a hymn, and dunking, and some tears. Overall it is a routine and rules that must be followed in order to reach heaven. Religion and the way that Hudgins was raised in it was a very oppressive and overbearing example of how religion was all about rules.

Another example of how God is portrayed in a somewhat negative light is Mark Jarman’s Unholy Sonnet 1. This poem goes through the different attributes of God in a mildly sarcastic manner and in the end it claims that God solves nothing but the problems that we set. This limits God and makes him seem like a pompous being that really does not have the power that he claims to have. This negative light is one that takes a very religious theme and portrays it differently then one would think it would be portrayed as in the “Bible Belt.”

Sit Still by Andrew Hudgins (page 50)

The preacher said, “We know God’s word is true.”
Amen, somebody called. “How do we know?
We know because the Bible says it’s true.”
He waved the fraying book. “God says it’s true.
And brother, that’s good enough for me.” Amen!
My father’s eyes were calm, my mother’s face
composed. I craned around, but everyone
seemed rapt as Brother Vernon spun
tight circles of illogic. A change
that I could not resist swept through,
and I resisted it. I tried again
to sing the word behind the words we sang.
I prayed. Then I gave up and picked a scab
till Daddy popped my thigh and hissed, “Sit still.”
Up front, the preacher waved his thick black book.
He fanned the pages, smacked it with his palm,
and I sincerely wished that I were stupid.

When I Was Saved by Andrew Hudgins (page 56)

“Do you still have a demon in your heart?”
the preacher asked. I did. My heart
and some place lower too. The demon kicked
inside my body, heart and groin—the way
I’d felt my brother kick inside my mother.
The demon too was blood-kin. In my aisle seat,
I sweated and I has no doubt—still don’t—
that Satan owned my heart. In tears,
I staggered down the aisle and, blubbering,
was saved. A prayer. A hymn. More tears. And then
the preacher led me like a trophy back
up the long aisle. My father, radiant,
stepped out and bear-hugged me so hard I gasped.
Later that day I couldn’t breath at all
when I, damp handkerchief clamped on my mouth,
was lowered into death. I went down easy,
stayed, panicked, struggled, and was yanked back up,
red-faced and dripping. After that, each Sunday
I went to preaching early so I could sit
behind a boy whose torn right ear did not
attach entirely to his head. Through that
pink gap of gristle, I’d watch the preacher shout,
croon, soothe—between that boy’s head and his ear.
More sinners lumbered up the aisle. I longed
to run up and again be purged of Adam,
who was reborn each night, like Lazarus,
by my own hand, beneath the sweat-drenched sheets.

Unholy Sonnet 1 by Mark Jarman

Dear God, Our Heavenly Father, Gracious Lord,
Mother Love and Maker, Light Divine,
Atomic Fingertip, Cosmic Design,
First Letter of the Alphabet, Last Word,
Mutual Satisfaction, Cash Award,
Auditor Who Approves Our Bottom Line,
Examiner Who Says That We Are All Fine,
Oasis That All Sands Are Running Toward.

I can say almost anything about you,
O Big Idea, and with each epithet,
Create new reasons to believe or doubt you,
Black Hole, White Hole, Presidential Jet.
But what’s the anything I must leave out? You
solve nothing but the problems that I set.