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POETRY FROM JULIA McGUINNESS

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About Poetry

Alongside personal journalling and non-fiction writing, I enjoy engaging with poetry both as reader and poet.

 

Poetry is too multi-faceted for one definition. It distills ordinary experience whilst daring to tame the extraordinary; it brings new words to what we think we know and finds a language for what we have no words for. Poetry’s music is endless varied in sound, form and tone. It can delight our ears and help us see with fresh eyes. It can move, entertain and inspire.

 

Poetry’s capacity to capture intense emotion has made it a companion to many a traveller through tough times. I enjoy sharing what poetry offers with others, whether we are exploring its connections in a discussion group or practising its craft in a poetry writing workshop.

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Poetry in Chester Cathedral

​From 2019-2024, I was  Poet-in-Residence at Chester Cathedral - which become Poet-in-Exile for a season during the time of Covid lockdowns. I'm now a Poet-in-Residence Emeritus, and continue to contribute to the poetic life of Chester Cathedral as their licensed Lay Reader. 

I've been able to do this in various ways; writing poetry myself as well as running two Young People’s Poetry Competitions, a Poetry Discussion Group - and, of course, Poetry Writing Workshops. 

In October 2023, it was a delight to host Canon Dr Mark Oakley’s lecture ‘Poetry: the Native Language of Faith.’ And in 2025 we welcome Imtiaz Dharker as a guest reader. 

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     Poetry and Peace

 

Chester Cathedral hosted a special poetry reading given by renowned poet Imtiaz Dharker on 20th May, alongside local poets who'd participated in my peace-themed poetry workshops. 

This was just one of the events being held under the distinctive art installation Peace Doves, currently in Chester Cathedral's South Transept. 

Peace Doves comprises 8,000 white paper doves carrying messages, hopes, prayers, poems on the theme of peace, written by community members. These include local schools and Cathedral visitors, as well as the local poets who participated in the poetry reading event.

The installation is hanging in the Cathedral's South Transept until June 17th and is well worth a visit.  it is lit in different colours and accompanied by a haunting musial soundtrack. 

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Joined-up writing

The poetry-writing workshop is in the Cathedral Library, a large room with tall windows, musty book-lined shelves, and sober episcopal portraits on its walls. Between glass cases containing the Charles Kingsley collection (the writer was once Canon here), ten of us sit round a modern table shaped like a Polomint.

 

Everyone is eager to write in this building. Someone describes the Cathedral as ’a contained vastness’; another speaks of the sense of being in the present moment but standing under ‘the weight of time.’ So we write about being here.

 

Later, we roam round the Cathedral building, looking for words and images that commemorate those remembered here in glass, in stone.  We use our imagination to bring some of these characters to life in our own words, wondering what it would be like if they all could meet: Bishops, soldiers, local dignitaries, virtuous Eighteenth Century wives.

 

Though often a solitary activity, writing today has connected us to one another in this place, as well as to some who have been here before us.

Some Poems from the Residency
 

Saint Swithun was part of a series of poems for the Cathedral publication Living Lights. Each poem was based on a Saint depicted in the Cloister windows, and illustrated a different poetic form. 

This poem is in the 7th Century Arabic verse form the ghazal. Each self-contained couplet verse looks at its subject from a different angle, rather than telling a story. We know little about Swithun, apart from the the legend that links him to rainy days, so a ghazal seemed a good route to take.

Saint Swithin 

He asked for an outside grave under a pall of rain

with footsteps of folk pattering in a fall of rain.

 

As Bishop he had lavished banquets on the poor,

offered warmth and shelter from the maul of rain.

 

When they moved his remains back into God’s house,

all said it was a day of appalling rain.  

 

Scant the facts of his life, opaque as a cloud

misted with tales of the wherewithal of rain.

 

Church-builder, life-mender, hear my prayer,

bless our parched land with a winding shawl of rain.

This is a ‘found’ poem, comprising different words and phrases I found written in different places around Chester Cathedral.

Ingredients Present 

 

A Guide makes good use of time.

Do thou likewise.

What time do you wake up?

Arise and eat.

Set out to explore

through the black gate.

 

Mind the step.

Join in the conversation.

You can be part of it,

do not have to tell us your name.

Become a Chorister.

Only if competent.

 

Help us build.

Only if safe.

Please give generously, 

exciting holiness.

Take off any shoes.

Two remain in this Chapel

 

God is worshipped

in this place, 

the start or finishing place.

Share its peace;

earth below, stars above.

Enjoy the Deep.

 

Do not leave without praying.

Jesus heals everything,

originally handcrafted   

to the glory of God - 

no two are the same.

Walk straight ahead.

In the summer of 2023, the whole Cathedral Nave become the setting for the Chester Mystery Plays. Sunday worship moved to the South Transept.

As someone captivated by the play’s powerful drama, it felt strange to come to a service on the first Sunday on the spot where they had been performed.

 

Mystery Play: The Sunday After 

 

The rising dead were a river of fire

coursing down the Nave 

where today we sit in orderly ranks.

Here, Adam and Eve fled Eden,

air smoked with Lucifer’s bravado,

shimmered through the Agnus Dei, sorrow-song,

the agony of God’s Cross-bound Son.

Christ has died 

 

Amongst this ensemble, random faces 

of disciples, demons, angels.

Now we too are players,

screens displaying our liturgy-script.

On stage, costumed clergy enact the drama

where Christ climbed  

to re-join the white-robed Godhead.

Christ is risen 

 

Sharp screams of mothers bereft

by Herod’s slaughter, a far cry

from these docile lines, edging forward

to sip from the Eucharist cup. 

Yet hidden losses, torn hearts

beat still into the silence,

yearn towards the mystery:

Christ will come again

​© 2025 Julia McGuinness. Powered and secured by Wix

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