Poetry

Resurrection 18

Then in the smoke and with the peal of bells

Some men arrived with sun symbols and crosses

With tinkling bells and smoky incense smells

Come from the castle or a mental palace

They faded in and came from somewhere else

A sphere of heaven, of the cycling cosmos

The true world, like the programme you can see

Behind the static of an untuned TV.

They processed out and turned toward the east

‘Let us who represent the cherubim’

Somebody sang, and then they came to rest.

St Velichovsky told me about them,

He said: “That one’s Columbus, that’s Cortez

And that one fought and beat the cruel muslim

And freed Granada and the whole of Spain

With lovely Isabell of Aragon.

‘Who dedicated Spain under their rule

To God, and planned to seize the holy land

Determined to win it back for Christ as well,

And thereby bring all history to an end.’

So, where the seals swim and the red hawks call

Near the steep cliffs, the shingle and the sand

Not far from St Beuno’s church at Nefyn

Where among those dry walls laid with granite stone

Where rust attacks your metal all the year

The wind blows hard and fast through the sea air,

And where I worked with shutter and with door,

Where, when he pays, the farmer takes a chair

And gives you tea talking for half an hour

That’s where I was, and yet in Granada.

I asked the saint to explain the things I saw

And why Spanish men and Russian men were here.

‘All men were meant to have been Christian

And in particular the Jews were meant

To turn to Jesus and fulfil the plan.

Columbus, turning to the government,

Offered to lead the great army of Spain

And do the last holy experiment

To convert all the jews and musselmans

But had to settle for the Indians.

‘It would have brought about the end of days

Instead he set off for the Mexica

A two month voyage to the West Indies

To find the door and then to turn the key

Onto a new world and five centuries

Of trouble,’ so Paisy Velichovsky.

‘When men play, there countries and nations count.

But what God means and what He really meant

‘Is something else.’ Now those men with the sun

And with the cross held up walked in the fort,

I followed them and saw new men within.

Each one held up a book above his head,

St Mark, St Luke, St Matthew and St John,

First faced the door, and then they turned about

In silence with eyes closed. ‘You translator

Of Philokalia, meet Kallistos Ware.’

He took my arm and made me shake the hand

Of that man of the old English elite

Who in the twentieth century ruled the land,

Who made their way in life having been taught

At Oxford or at Cambridge where they learned

Both what to know and how to employ it.

I was not one of them, which I regret.

‘I thought of writing you. I was too late,’

I said to him, and, ‘When I starting writing

And had the notion to edit your book,

You died and left us. I had been translating

The hesychast tradition from the Greek,’

And he: ‘In those days, all of us were waiting

To see the end of things, we had no luck

I was so tired, and longed to reach the end

And meet my maker whom I thought my friend.’

So I said: ‘Do you mean you felt despair?’

And he: ‘Not that. I couldn’t bear decline.

To see how bold the plutocrat men were,

In England, which I once considered mine.

I wanted to join with these four men here

The Gospel writers, and such other men

Who spent their time with Jesus both in life

And afterlife, since I had had enough.’

‘England, your name is loved and known in hell,’

I whispered. ‘How they start the wars for cash,

Taxing the poor, to buy arms, and to sell

From factories they own. Not the English

But a certain class of them who get to rule

Across the world from London. How I wish

I had not lived to see how in Ukraine

The Orthodox had fallen to that plan.

‘When it had been the role of Westerners

To liberate Jerusalem and all.

But now, without the need to strain your ears

Or chase impossible silence and be still

You can hear and see the joy and holy peace

And see what always was and is the will

Of our Father.’ Then he turned to face

The Lion and the eagle and the ox

‘The Second Coming was the final aim.

Our Orthodoxy seems to have been pushed far

Toward the east, and well beyond our home

Toward the steppes and fastness of Russia.

That’s how it seemed to me. It was my dream

To bring that Orthodoxy to the ear

Of British as the men of previous times

Had brought it with them fleeing Stalin’s crimes.’

A tune arose then, sung words, that I heard:

The three times holy hymn to the trinity

And longed to ask a question in my head

An urgent question which embarrassed me

‘But what is Orthodoxy?’ He replied:

‘Why don’t you ask St John instead of me.

He’s waiting for you.’ Then he took my elbow,

And led me slowly toward Christ’s disciple.

Those steps toward the saint who knew our Lord

While he was on the earth when he was human

Were not like other footsteps with your feet

But like somebody scaling up a ladder

When he cannot be sure his hands will hold

And if his feet will fail, he starts to shudder,

And tremble, for, what people most should know

And what they most desire is terrible.