Po et ry rides in clay vessels

by Shanna Lynn Fanelli a

married woman, a & e editor doomed to heartache

[t seemed the will of God that keep the dangerously low-hanging glasses of Reverend John P. McNamee firmly anchored to the edge of his nose. A tip of his head and a nudge of his thumb cause the glasses to journey down and nestle on his chin. Wit~ that gesture, Reverend McNamee becomes more than just a pastor of St. Malachy Catholic Church in north Philadelphia. He becomes approachable, instantly likeable and wonderfully familiar. Reverend McNamee becomes real, a synonym likened to the special image he and partner-in-crime, artist Robert McGovern, share; the spiritual meaning of human reality.

Peering over the lens, gray eyes crinkle in smile just before the glasses are pushed back in place and the students, of Dr. Marilyn Johnson's priests and poets class, eagerly wait for McNamee to give voice to the words he has written in his published book of poetry, "Clay Vessels."

The origin of his book was born when McGovern asked McNamee to join him and his wife on a trip down to Australia. During this time, the beauty and power of the sketches McGovern had created struck McNamee. Feeling inspired, McNamee decided to give words to the sights they had seen, collaborating with his life-long friend to present a book composed of poems and wood carvings that found beauty in the little things.

Along with creating his own personal works, McNamee has also mused over issues that other creative minds have pondered. A classic example is that of the story of a man who fell madly in love with because God tells him to keep his single arms away from her matrimonial charms. in speech.

McNamee winks and presses his thumbs together. "I updated it," he said referring to his poem, "A Gloss on the Obituaries: Graham Greene 19041991." "l kind of got rid of the religious stuff," he chuckles deeply, infecting the students with grins of their own.

With a soft, clearing of his throat, McNamee performs his work, punctuating different words with hand gestures that seem to come naturally to the Irish Reverend McNamee signed and personalized each book.

"I see Hopkins there," he said, eyebrows shooting up in delight as he greets a book of poetry by Gerard Manly Hopkins with a well-known nod. The class, who has been studying the works of Hopkins, notice that McNamee has mentioned the poet in one of his poems, "Writing." One wonders if McNamee ever tries to write in the same vein as Hopkins.

'That's presumptuous to say," the eyebrows furrow as the glasses are pushed back down. He ponders for a minute. "I don't think anyone who has tried to write in his vein, or imitate him has been successful." The deep, soft-spoken voice changes modulation with each word, as the real inspiration behind McNamee's writing is delivered.

'The poet is one who likes to play with words," he states, "as opposed to a burning desire to say something." He pauses and then breaks into a slow smile, "But then again, poetry can be both a passion to say something and also a play on words."

McNamee does this a lot. He peppers the class with different tid-bits of behindthe-scene facts about each poem. Recounting early memories of his first attempt at getting published, the arms wave and his face contorts as his voice takes on the different accents of the people he has met, entertaining the class with impersonations of past publishers and friends.

McNamee points at his poem, "Paris: Eglise d' Auteuil," which has some stanzas referring to a certain female with distracting perfume and a special grace. "I used to live with a priest," he grins, "who read this entire poem and could only say to me, 'Whose the woman?"' he shakes his head at the memory and laughs. "As if a priest should not notice women, or if he did, should pretend not to."

As the end of his visit draws near, McNamee earnestly answers the questions posed to him about his poetry. Eyes are opened as the realization that his "Ghetto woman" in the poem, "Advent" with her pathetic string of Christmas lights on a crumbly shack can, ''Teach me more of hope than all my books and pieties."

McNamee is all about focusing on the less obvious and demanding attention be paid on the beauty it can possess and the things one can learn. He practices foot washing in his church, creating his own process when the more traditional way struck him as, "too antiseptic." So he improvised, as his way and proudly shares experiences that a festive church service at St. Malachy can bring.

After he left, all agreed that McNamee is not the predictable Reverend. His tall presence, warm humor and surprising mischievousness left as much of an impression as his works of words. There is no one word that could describe McNamee or his poems. He is a man who truly enjoys life and wants others to view the world as he does, "sacred in all its muck and glory."

Before he left, McNamee shared a final tale about the last-minute improvisation of using an Arab headdress as an alter cloth for a church service. He looks the class over and in schoolboy fashion hush-hushes them with a finger, "Don't tell anyone we did that," he whispers. Then he breaks into a grin and slips the glasses into his pocket. "No," he said, shaking a hand as the class dispersed, copies of "Clay Vessels" signed and bearing special messages from the author clutched under their arms. "You can write it."