Poetry

Judgement 14

A young man takes his feelings seriously

He can’t escape himself. He can’t transcend them.

But the mature man lives self-consciously

He is separated from the world around him.

The vision of the pageant passing by

Was not a vision passing me at random.

An old man knows that nothing is by chance

God shows him things to make sure that he learns.

Alive, I used to ask, did He make this

Entirely for me? All of life for me?

The common people call this selfishness.

But it makes total sense that this drama

Of work and love and death should be for us

The circus where we face our enemy

I mean the theatre where God and I

Have boxed and wrestled almost every day.

The British people came after their saints

The remnant of them, out of Canterbury.

O muse, sweet Spirit, this needs lovely sounds

And concentration of my memory,

So take me down into holy silence

The root ground of inspired oratory.

The nationalty walked by as I stood

They were the British by culture and blood.

And then the kings and masters of the race

A lion and a unicorn came first.

It was the image of a game of chess

First there were pawns, and now the kings went past.

So I saw John and Richard, those brothers,

And Queen Elizabeth and all the rest.

“You there, what are you doing on your own?

Are you special? Come here and join the line.”

These were the words a monarch sent my way;

And then: “You must be special. Walk a while.

I was King William Third in history.

Were you around,” he said, “when the fire fell?

How did the world collapse?” And my reply:

“The British had their nuclear arms as well;

We wanted to remain a first class power

And used them at the extreme, final hour.

“That was the moment when everyone died.”

And he again: “A deficit of peace.”

So I said: “Our technology was good

But our respect and love for enemies,

The intellect that our ancestors had,

Degenerated badly with the years.”

“God must have wanted that,” was what he said.

“He was in favour,” I nodded my head.

“I blame the Liberals,” I said, turning to him.

He paused, stopped walking with that dead patrol;

He wore the wig and clothing of his time,

And frightened me, seeming to lose control:

“What? Freedom, to be good or bad, is to blame?

It makes no sense! I was a Liberal.

No, Liberal constitution was no fault.

A king, I know the things the last men felt.

“They were a crowd and they were complacent.

They turned from God, and put faith in the State.

They all believed in atheist government.

Do you remember how it used to hurt

When you were young and post-adolescent?

How sick love used to make you in the heart?

Desire for that proud and indifferent girl,

Was dreadful, fearful, unavoidable.

“Those dangerous tears and feelings of your youth,

Her prohibition on you coming near –

Such is the raw fear that we feel for death.

And your degenerate age did not feel fear

Or any love. By contrast, from my birth

The age I lived in often was at war,

But we were building, too. To my last breath

It was important to defend the faith.”

“Your aim was to protect and build the country?”

I asked him, and he made this brief response:

“There was no country, then. Better to say

The Church is what a king holds in his hands.

But I imagine that’s what fell away.”

I thought on this, and realised at once

That all the kindness of a Christian man

Must be allotted to his own nation.

“When I invaded England I could build;

I built up England to be Liberal

And Christian, fit to rule the entire world;

And now I learn they chose to waste it all.”

“You’ve honoured me,” I said, “And when you called,

You called me special; by some miracle

I have survived this far. I had a guide

I know that it was Jesus that me led.”

We shook hands while he said in benediction:

“See, back there, are the churchmen coming on.

You need to join the line and find your faction.

It seems to me that you have yet to learn

The Son of God is you, in your perfection.

The Messiah is you, hidden deep down.

You are supposed to be the reborn God.

But let somebody else explain my word.”

He left me, going forward with his caste.

Behind the kings two standard bearers came

With giant roses, red and white; and next,

In green and white robes of Byzantium

The ceremonial court dress of the priest,

The bishops of my island and my home.

The body of the crowd held icons up

Paintings of Christ were carried by this group.

When these, though few, were passing in full spate,

Reflecting on the words the king had said,

About how to become a potentate,

The lowly king the prophets prophesied,

I saw them. Each one seemed to meditate,

Not watchful and alert or on his guard

As the preceding monarch caste had been,

But heads bowed down, and watching things within.

Still, by symbolic objects or by signs,

Which indicated to me who each was,

I knew St Bede, and both the Augustines,

And by his neck, St Oswald; Maximos,

And Alfred, King of England and the Danes,

And Bernard patron of the Crusaders,

Along with others, I won’t speak of here,

Who founded and sheltered the dim future.

I waited as they went by, till at last,

I could not help myself, but interrupted

A man who looked like Coleridge at least,

“Pardon, but all these men are so abstracted,

I have heard that I must try to become Christ,”

I said: “I really need to be instructed.”

And he: “The easy victories of prayer

When you got both hands on the steering wheel,

Give way at length, and progress needs more skill.

“I do confess, by opiates subdued,

I am not fit to teach the highest art;

But you were right to pull me from the crowd

Since I can talk. In prayer of the heart

The fire of Spirit purges you for God,

To sacrifice and burn your narrow part.”

And I said: “Thank you, tell me more, but yet,

Tell me the destination of this lot,

“And most of all, tell me how God is love.

I do not understand my punishment.”

He rolled his eyes at me for being naïve,

Then proved to me he knew what I had meant:

“Both you and I, each, back to where we live,

The path is hard to get back to the point.

We all have failed, each in his special way.

But He has let us, and won’t let us die.”