YOU HAVE been defined as one of a new generation of poets shaping the future of British poetry. How would you define poetry and why is it important in our lives?
As a Catholic I see poetry, and art in general as the best way, apart from prayer, of communicating with the divine.
It’s ironic that I’ve been defined as one of the people shaping the future of British poetry because I’ve branched off a little from my contemporaries. Poetry in North America, and Britain especially, has a tendency to be secular and in the main there are very few poets who would class themselves as formally religious.
In the last few years I’ve personally found that unless you let in something external to yourself, the poetry remains a bit ‘horizontal’; it stays bound to our trying to control things. So what I’ve been trying to do is to write poetry that is aware of a transcendent aspect that makes the poems more than just human. Art has to involve something of the divine; a lot of artists would agree with that.
You are poet in residence at The Hermitage of the Three Holy Hierarchs. Could you explain to our readers what this organisation is?
The organisation consists of one single hermit, Fr. Gregory Hrynkiw. He’s the priest who converted me to Catholicism.
Fr. Hrynkiw is a Byzantine priest and monk who came from the Ukraine to Rome, and has set up his own hermitage. When I went through my conversion process one of the things that worried me, being an atheist, was that my conversion would impair my writing. This might be difficult for a non-writer to understand, but the change within me due to my conversion was so huge that I wondered if it would halt my creativity.
Fr. Hrynkiw told me that God would take care of everything, and in fact I’ve been more productive since the conversion. I became poet in residence at the Hermitage so I could write poems in a sheltered, supportive environment. The Hermitage is of the Byzantine rite which has an extremely beautiful liturgy and that gives me another perspective on Catholicism too.
The Three Hierarchs are St. Gregory, St. Basil, and St. John Chrysostom, the three fundamental saints in the Byzantine tradition.
You worked as a psychiatric nurse in London. How has this experience shaped your life and work?
Nursing has had an enormous impact on my life and work. I chose to go into nursing for altruistic motives. It’s important to realise that atheists, or at least some of them, can have altruistic motives!
I was in psychiatry, which is emotionally and psychologically very demanding, but I think I was a good nurse. At a certain point, though, it became too much for me; I was beginning to get burned out. If I were to go back to psychiatric nursing now, as a Catholic, I think it would be easier because, when you are working with Christ inside you, and seeing Christ in the face of other human beings, you have that other perspective, that other help from Above. In fact I would like to go back to nursing at some point; it’s something that’s still important to me.
You were born in Suffolk, England, but are now married to an Italian man, have a daughter, and live near Rome in Italy. But what drew you to Italy in the first place?
I came to Italy when I was 18 on holiday. I remember walking through Rome on the first evening I arrived, and I was absolutely bowled over by the colours, the sound of church bells, the art, the smells, and I just knew I had to live in Italy.
At that time I was living in Cardiff, and it was a shock for me to go back, even though Cardiff itself is a beautiful city. Compared to Italy, Britain seemed very grey.
But I did not go back to Italy again until I met my husband, who was learning English in London and I was a teacher at his school. We got together and I went to Sardinia to live with him. He now works in Rome, and that’s why I live near Rome. So my wish has been fulfilled.
In the past you were a very passionate atheist, but in the year 2010 you experienced a powerful conversion to Christ. Could you explain to us what happened?
It is a long story, but I’ll try to keep it simple. One day I was talking with Fr. Hrynkiw, who I knew through mutual friends, and I felt compelled to tell him that I found the Catholic Church despicable. I found the Church’s stance on just about everything, like contraception and abortion for instance, just awful. However, it became apparent during our discussion (which went on for weeks, by email) that there was something bothering me, though I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was then that I had a kind of ‘intellectual epiphany’: that is I suddenly understood the possibility of there being a God, and that my work as a writer was intimately connected to this God, whom I suddenly understood as the overarching author of all creation – the uber poet, if you like. Then I remember saying to Father, “Okay, there just may be a God, but why would I be a Christian, let alone a Catholic? Why not a Muslim or a Hindu?”
I went on like that for weeks, asking myself things like, “How do I know that God is benign?” or “Which Church should I belong to?” One day I stopped at a little Carmelite church near my daughter’s school, and I was very churned up because I was obsessed with these issues. I sat in the church and looked up at a portrait of Christ, and I actually said aloud, in tears, “If you are there, you have to help me!”
I felt a very odd sensation then, which was both physical and spiritual. I felt my tears dry up, and a deep calm come over me, along with a sense of being lifted up – suddenly I knew He was there. From that day I knew with absolute certainty that God existed and that He had come to me – it was like meeting a person.
After this experience I had to decide which Christian denomination I wanted to belong to. This took another few months of reading, praying and thinking. The Eucharist became very important for me and it became increasingly clear to me that I had to become Catholic.
In the aftermath of your conversion you were received into the Catholic Church at the Vatican. What do your remember of that experience?
It was one of the most wonderful days of my life. I was due to be received into the Church by Cardinal Cottier, who had been Papal Theologian to Pope John Paul II, at the Angelicum University in Rome. On that day, however, a massive vote of no confidence was expected against Silvio Berlusconi’s government, and everyone was saying to me, “Don’t go to Rome on that day, it’ll be impossible to get through the city!” But I was saying, “I don’t care what’s going on in Rome on that day, I can’t postpone this!” So we set off, the three of us: me, my husband, and Fr. Hrynkiw, by train.
When we arrived the city centre was locked down. The streets were completely deserted, except for policemen; there were no cars, but there were helicopters circling the city, with some banks on fire and broken glass everywhere. We had to walk all the way across the centre to the Angelicum, but when we got there the rector told us that the Cardinal was stuck at the Vatican because of all the mayhem. But he said, “I love walking and if you like we can all walk to the Vatican. So our small group walked all the way back across the city to the Vatican.
Just as we reached St. Peter’s, dusk was falling and it was the most beautiful sight. I was received by the Cardinal in the chapel of Santa Marta, which is where Pope Francis lives now. It was such a peaceful and wonderful experience to step into this church after having been through all that chaos. I had really come home. Secretly, I’d always secretly wanted to be received in the Vatican. I didn’t think it would be possible, but it happened!
Simone Weil, the French philosopher and Christian mystic, referred to atheism as a ‘purification’. Do you agree with this statement?
Absolutely. Real atheism, the one that has asked the right questions and scrutinised the answers, and which has then decided with great sadness that there is no divine presence in the world, is a hard position to take.
I did a lot of reading in my 20s. I went to Quaker meetings and the services of various denominations, and I concluded that there was no God. But it was a conclusion that made me sad. I saw the human condition as extremely difficult, but as something that we just had to face up to. I saw atheism as the mature position to take, and that religion was just a pile of fairy tales designed to make people feel better.
You have stated that your relationship with Our Lady did not begin with your conversion, but long before, even when you were an atheist. Could you explain?
I realised this quite a long time after my conversion. I always had a fascination with Our Lady in art, and I collected a lot of images of her; I even had a picture of her on my wall. I was initially interested in her because she exemplified everything I disdained as a feminist: her submissiveness, her downcast eyes, her eternal virginity. I looked for images of her where she seemed more forceful, and looked at you straight in the face. I wanted to get at the truth of her.
When I was still an atheist I saw Michelangelo’s Pietà at St. Peter’s, and I was overwhelmed by its beauty. Later, as a mother, I once held my daughter, who was ill, on my lap in hospital, and the position reminded me, fundamentally, of the Pietà. So my deepening knowledge of Mary’s persona and suffering was like a catalyst that facilitated my understanding of Catholicism, though I was quite unconscious of it for a long time.
You have written, “If we’re unwilling to be wounded we remain encased in our humanity. With wounds, we’re lit by divinisation.” Could you elaborate on this?
When we love and try to help other people we are only kidding ourselves if we think that it won’t hurt us and that we won’t receive wounds. Christ was wounded because of His love for us. We have to face up to the fact that helping anyone is not easy, and that we will easily get wounded-- by ingratitude or even violence.
Since March 13 of last year we have a new pope. How do you view the pontificate of Francis I?
I am a big fan of Pope Francis, even though I love Pope Benedict and appreciate his books. Benedict was a wonderful pope, and I believe he was wise to stand down. God has given us Francis, who has a very direct and fresh approach, and a lot of energy. There is a simplicity, humility and compassion about him which really shines through.
What are your projects for the future?
I would like to write a book about my conversion. Also, the little Carmelite church where I had my experience of Christ was used by a nun called Maria Crocifissa Curcio, who was beatified by Pope Benedict in 2005.
She had a deeply mystical and intense prayer life, and I have become very interested in her work and diary, which I am translating for the nuns from Italian into English.
BORN IN Suffolk, England, in 1971, Sally Read was a winner of an Eric Gregory Award from the Society of Authors in 2001. Her main poetical works are The Point of Splitting (Bloodaxe, 2005), Broken Sleep (Bloodaxe, 2009) and The Day Hospital (Bloodaxe 2012).
Sally was educated at the Middlesex University, the Open University, and at The University of South Dakota.
A former psychiatric nurse at St Mary’s Hospital in Hampstead, London, Sally transferred to Italy in 2002 and now lives in Santa Marinella near Rome. She is poet in residence at the Hermitage of the Three Holy Hierarchs.
Sally is married to Fabio and has a 7-year-old daughter, Celia Florence.
PRAYER
Lord, in the day’s noise
Help us hear Your listening.
In the face of commotion
help us know the precedence of eternity.
Lord, give us the stature in our souls
not to reduce You to our thoughts.
Let our edges soften and dissolve
and our love for You expand
into Your limitless heart.
Amen.
Updated on October 06 2016