Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Lawrence Durrell's "Greek Church: Alexandria" is a richly textured exploration of faith, tradition, and the complexities of human experience within the setting of a Greek Orthodox church in Alexandria. Through his vivid imagery and philosophical musings, Durrell reflects on the intersection of the sacred and the mundane, the mystical and the rational, and the ways in which these forces shape the lives of individuals within a shared cultural and religious landscape.

The poem opens with a statement that blurs the lines between "the evil and the good," suggesting that within the confines of the church, these moral distinctions become indistinguishable. Durrell portrays the congregation as "half asleep," indicating a sense of spiritual torpor or perhaps the overwhelming nature of the religious experience that numbs the mind. The reference to "natures / Too dense for material ends, quartered in pain" introduces the idea that the human condition, with its inherent suffering, cannot be easily separated into simple categories of good and evil. Instead, it exists within a complex web of experiences and emotions, where the divine and the mundane intermingle.

Durrell continues by describing the church service as a "propitiation by dreams of belief," a phrase that captures the idea of religion as a means of appeasing existential fears and uncertainties. The "chafing ropes of thought" from which belief offers relief suggest that the act of faith provides a way to escape the relentless questioning and doubts that plague the human mind. This escape is not rooted in rational understanding but in the comfort and solace provided by religious ritual and tradition.

The church itself is depicted as a "treasure-ship," filled with the accumulated wealth of Byzantine tradition, yet it is also "heels over, sinking in sound / And yellow lamplight." This image conveys a sense of overwhelming sensory experience, where the church, rich in history and ritual, teeters on the edge of chaos, its grandeur both awe-inspiring and intimidating. The "blazing crockery of the orthodox God" and the "fearful pomp for peasants" highlight the stark contrast between the ornate, almost magical atmosphere of the church and the simple, unadorned lives of its congregation.

Durrell also comments on how different groups perceive the church service: for the "black-coated rational," it is "sorcery," something incomprehensible and irrational; for the "town-girl," it is an "adventure," suggesting a mix of curiosity and excitement in encountering the unfamiliar. This range of responses underscores the poem's exploration of the tension between the mystical allure of religious ritual and the more grounded, skeptical attitudes of modernity.

As the poem progresses, Durrell shifts to a more introspective tone, describing how the church now "hums and softly spins / Like a great top," with the congregation merging into a "single sea-shell." This image of unity contrasts with the earlier depictions of division and confusion, suggesting that within the ritual, there is a moment of collective harmony, where individual differences dissolve into a shared spiritual experience.

However, this harmony is fleeting, as "idle thoughts press in, amazing one," bringing to mind the "theologians with beards of fire" who "divided us upon the boiling grid of thought." Here, Durrell reflects on the divisive nature of theological debate, which, instead of uniting, has historically split believers into opposing camps. The "conniving cobweb" spun by theologians serves as a trap for the soul, illustrating how complex religious doctrines can ensnare rather than enlighten.

The poem's tone becomes more visceral with the image of "Three sailors stand[ing] like brooms" and the altar opening "like a honeycomb," evoking a sense of the physicality and raw energy of the religious ceremony. The "erect and flashing deacon" who "howls" like a despot reinforces the intensity of the ritual, where the line between reverence and fear is thin.

Durrell then introduces a moment of personal reflection, questioning whether "we might ourselves exhale / Our faults like rainbows on this incense." This line suggests the possibility of redemption and transformation through the ritual, where one's sins could be released into the ether, transformed into something beautiful and ethereal. However, this hope is tempered by the image of the "old Greek barber / Who cut my hair this morning," a figure who remains earthbound, "hopeless, window-bound and awkward." This barber, despite being in the presence of the divine, is still weighed down by the realities of life, "Moved by a hunger money could not sate," suggesting that material desires and existential longing persist even within the sacred space.

The poem concludes with the barber "Smelling the miracle and softly sighing," a poignant image that encapsulates the mixture of awe and resignation that permeates the poem. The miracle is sensed but not fully grasped, leaving the barber—and perhaps the reader—with a sense of longing and unfulfilled desire.

In "Greek Church: Alexandria," Durrell masterfully captures the tension between the sacred and the secular, the mystical and the rational, and the ways in which these forces interact within the human psyche. Through his vivid and evocative language, he explores the complexities of faith and the human condition, offering a nuanced portrayal of how individuals navigate the intersection of tradition, belief, and modernity. The poem is a reflection on the power of ritual and the enduring, if elusive, presence of the divine in a world where distinctions between good and evil, sacred and profane, are increasingly blurred.

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