Poetry

Judgement 5

“When I was young I loved your book so much

I am embarrassed by the memory.

To make art was an itch I had to scratch

You were my master, years ahead of me.

I could not grasp the thing that I could reach,”

I said to Joyce, and he made this reply:

“When I was growing up around Dublin

My town and island were ruled from London

“Our souls belonged to Rome. I say ‘belonged’

For, property and money all the while,

Were at the root of how I felt so wronged

And took myself to Europe and exile,

To places free of England. So estranged

I wrote my books in that rebellious style

Which it was destined, would not be published.

And now I am here with God,” he said, finished.

“How can that be, James? You trained as a priest,

But famously, denied the least belief

In God, and said you were an atheist.”

The great man kept his answer tight and brief:

“I gave up all I owned and followed Christ.

That’s what my secrecy and exile prove.”

I made my way past the bodies on the floor,

There was a clearing, and an open door.

“Doc, is that you? Come here. It’s Gez. Gez Jones.

Don’t leave this place until we have a talk.”

Now just as in the other life, those ones

Who had no garden paid to have a stake

In an allotment; or, just like the stones

Which stand in graveyards, each one back to back,

About a ten foot by ten of space each plot

So there my old friend had his share of it.

“Ah, Gez,” I said, “I’m leaving by that door.”

For my own reasons, I rejected him.

“That time in Basra, on the parade square,

The General called the two of us by name,

Commended us for actions under fire,

Remember?” he said. And I: “Since that time,

You have avoided me. Here is James Joyce.

I’ll talk with him.” Then he: “I’m sorry, Jase.

“The two of us were young back in the day,

And volunteered for service though we knew

The rich were using us, their military,

To make them richer. Nothing else was true

Among the lies and the mythology

Of war making. And being young, we two,

Felt no compunction and we made errors.”

So I knelt down forgetting my old scores.

“I found it strange that you had made your name

And made new friends in the United States

And yet despite how close we had become

In those patrols so many days and nights,

And in the Middle East, when we got home,

Becoming famous, you forgot your mates.”

That’s how I would have said it, but instead

We spoke of what the British Army did

When it was ravaged at the Khaiber Pass

Because when Queen Victoria was young

Our ancestors had claimed the territories

Of India, Afghanistan and Sind,

Where General Napier’s Cheshire infantiers

Gave rest to that disaster that happened

At Khabul. That was all part of the war

The Great Game played with France and with Russia.

“Napoleon had India for his aim,

When he set sail for Egypt and the Nile,

Intending thereby to finish the game,

And take India from England. After all

He went to Russia thinking of the same:

To reach the Indus and set up his rule

And distribute the riches back to France.

And in our time, it was the Neo-Cons

“Who with informal empire once controlled

The British and the US populace

And for some decades ruled the entire world.

And such was our lot.” So we talked like this.

“As you came to this place, as you patrolled,”

I asked my friend, “Have you seen some of those,

We served with in Iraq, or Kosovo?”

And he: “I have not. This what I know:

“That over there is king Macsen Wledig

The Roman prince who dreamed he met his wife

At Caernarfon, and so became a Gog,

There by the sea and made his dream real life.

And Michael Rose, whose SAS attack

On Iran’s Embassy was of that stuff

Which dreams are made on.” When I looked around

I wondered that so many on the ground

Were not pacific men who were perfect;

They had not given up all their possessions,

Except, speaking in theory, in effect,

These soldiers would die for their various nations.

And where you live is not perhaps in fact

A thing you possess, but your very substance,

Or that without which nothing can occur.

But my reflections stopped, as you will hear.

When God used to appear to a prophet

His approach was preceded by hot coal

And great winds, rains and lightning from a height;

The noise was great. And fast as fire will roll

From an explosive, instantaneous light

Caressed my eyeballs, and I heard this call:

“Stand upright!” But it was not said to me

Although it spoke like conscience inwardly.

Then two men opened up the great far door.

And just as God is said by Michah and Haggai

To ride on cherubims, so a smooth fire

Flew in the great cavern and hovered by

One of the many worshippers down there;

He stood and was as if burned dead gently.

And then I heard: “Go to Saint Constantine

And to Saint Anthony, two men of mine.”

The upright man approached them. He was given

A satchel for his back, and those two saints

Filled it was twelve stones, less one, or eleven.

And without ceremony he went hence.

And as a student learns until he is proven

By means of absolute obedience

And trusts his teacher’s wide experience

So this man went out. I had many questions.

But there was no one there to answer them.

“That’s Eisenhower, General in Europe.

Who was baptised in office when he came

To be elected. You require a map

And help to find your way out of this room.”

These were the Lady’s words. “Your time is up.”

I asked the following: “Will I too get

The bergan and the stones when I go out?”

For one last time, I bowed to where she was

And saw the baby, mute and delicate

Who would become greater than Hercules

Or Alexander, Caesar, or James Watt.

“Before I leave,” I said, “answer me please.

Who will direct me, now I have not got

A master?” “You will know the Holy Ghost”

She said, “He spoke only a moment past.”

And I said: “I will go then. But once more

I want to ask a question harsh and rude.

I learned my wife and children go before.

Why did you ask your son to be my guide

If we must give up all.” And she: “An heir

Is patriarchally divinely good.

By setting out now tramp, noble, or fool,

Each one becomes a knight, like Parsifal.”