This poem was submitted by C-RS member Thea Maestre:

“I grew up in New Jersey where my father was cantor at St. Michael’s Byzantine Catholic Church in Passaic, New Jersey. My grandfather, Theodore Ratzin, was a cantor also. He assembled the Prostopinije in 1925, and delivered it to parishes in several states where this was needed. I wrote this poem in a Poetry class. The assignment was to write about an object.”

Thank you to Thea for sharing her creative work with the Carpatho-Rusyn community!

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I used to sit on the window seat that looks out the back
window at the cherry tree. Next to the window seat was
the glass covered bookcase filled with treasures.

An old book. Maroon colored cover, some of the edges
frayed.

The inside pages fading. The old book scent, musty and
soft, evoking decades and the spirits of those who held the
book over the years.

Inside the front cover, my father’s name in Latin script and
in Cyrillic script. And our address on Christie Avenue in
Clifton New Jersey where I was born.

Music of all sorts. Choir music, piano music, violin, cello,
clarinet. I could read the songs written in English, like the
Happy Wanderer. But the others were a mystery.

Later on came knowing. It was church Slavonic, which is
written in Cyryllic. And the title of the book, Prostopinje.
Plain chant. What is sung in the Byzantine Catholic
Church. The cantor leads the congregation in response to
the priest.

A friend of my husband’s who could read Cyrillic said that
my grandfather had written the forward. Grandfather
Theodore had compiled this book (known as the Ratzin
Prostopinije) in 1925. Having learned plainchant in a
monastery in Uzhorod, he was urged to compile it for the
many immigrants who needed this guidance in parishes in
Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Ohio, New York, Delaware.
Uncle Dennis who didn’t have a driver’s license at the
time, drove him around to distribute copies to parishes.

Anthony my father, the cantor at St. Michael’s cathedral,
singing in Old Slavonic. Smelling the incense as we
entered the vestibule where candles for departed loved
ones flickered in the dark. Walking up the spiral staircase
to the choir loft, passing the men pulling on the ropes
which sounded the bells that announced services. Clang,
clang, clang, clang…joyous proclamations!

This book, Prostopinje, part of history. My people, my
family… I hold it and hold the memories of generations in
my hand. How they came, what they endured on the
journey, and the joyous celebrations here. Ancestors,
resting in peace knowing they are remembered. Vichnaya
Pamyat.

Thea, October 2024