by Pam Crane
and milked with me
And who was named
Her name and my name, Silence,
We one and many.
We women weave still our intricate small spells,
Those webs of time
To catch the best of the world's uneasy beauty.
The thread is hard
And wonderful wild and delicate
In our hands.
There is You, though, with power to ease, always,
To manipulate
My each most dedicated tapestry.
Your day dawns,
Your shadow on the loom, and
I can do nothing.
I can no longer walk in the mind-forest I made
And reach for her,
My sister down every avenue waiting.
Caught in my maze of
Little grey rags when You with your laser-light
Oh You with your great gold humming shield before you
Fend them off in the dark undergrowth
To cower
Abject and unprotected, I gone from them.
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COME TO MY HILLS
Come to my hills.
Come with me in a dream;
You'll not remember.
My lonely power extends
through every singing fibre of the wind.
See, out of the mist
swim mountains towards my fingers.
Out of the shadow of clouds
come lakes!
Facing the vastness,
watch me summon the wind.
It will blow through your heart and mine
till my eyes are seeing crystals
and you are stilled by the springing ice in your blood.
There is no horizon.
To the white edge of time
I have brought you
to know what I know of the wide power
that quickens the world.
Take it, take it
and keep it. The darkness comes
softly between us from the forgotten valleys,
bringing stars.
There is no light anywhere;
you will not remember.
But here in the stillness of night
you have known the power,
you have lifted the wheel of heaven
that lies in my arm;
you have touched the skin of God,
and looked at me.
Long out of your dream,
you shall look at me so again, one day, in a room;
pause, sensing the reason ...
... and not remember.
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GOD-FEARING
I saw the god in the mist that moved
And in the ground I heard him.
I felt his fear along my limbs,
And in my womb I feared him.
He showed me where his beauty was
And where the truth lay sleeping
Under a blighted tree. I wept,
And all mankind was weeping.
I wept for eyes that could not see
because they sought a reason,
And hands that murdered God - dead to
Their terrible blind treason.
The trees I love! The skies I love!
I mourn for them and cry,
For axe and flame are on the tree,
And wreckage in the sky.
And limbs are lost in ugliness,
And passions lurk and fester.
The night still flowers sweet for man -
How long since he has blessed her!
A red moon holds for him no fire,
The earth shakes him no fear.
Poor lovely stupid man, what wrath
Can prove the god is near?
Must stars claw out your eyes, and trees
Bear down to bring you to your knees?
Must grasses shrivel under rain,
And lightning rot the standing grain,
And worlds be hammered into dust,
The victims of incurred disgust?
My fear went into the mist that moved;
The god was in my hearing.
A tremor passed through the earth I loved
And all mankind was fearing.
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ORPHEA
I am Orphea.
Creatures come to me.
I sing, they come,
I am their healing.
I am mother of
All the love-lorn,
I am a tree
For every bird.
I am a rock
For those who drown,
I am the house
Of all the homeless,
I am the hand
That feeds the hungry,
I am the path
The lost may follow,
I am a fire
To warm the lonely.
But for Orphea
Who is a haven?
Who will comfort
Orphea's hunger?
The breast of a hill
So dry and hard?
Orphea roofless
Who will shelter?
The winter trees
Or a draughty sky?
Who will sing to her?
Who loves Orphea?
Only the sun
Whose arms are generous,
Never the moon,
So cold and contrary.
Orphea yearns,
The moon disdains her.
There is no cure
For Orphea's sorrow.
Who will comfort
The lonely singer?
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THE LITTLE GODS LAUGH
Man, you know, is no longer Man. I've seen
Unlaboured efforts on the part of God
To hold him up to ridicule. I wish He would
Be wrathful - compassionate - something in between ...
But not so rude.
He falls away
In vast dudgeon, whirled in a breath of stars.
Exasperating little Man! You had your way;
And may it do you good to appal Him grey
At the godless genius of motor-cars!
Abandoned to angels - Mercury and Michael,
Lucifer who likes us - we carry on abusing
The beauty we thought we could understand, foolishly choosing
(Instead of leaping naked) a wonky cycle
And hat-losing.
How we amuse
Our disconcerting audience, and grieve!
They must be disappointed, but the means they use
In making up for this are sheer abuse
Of all a god is able to achieve;
For why not work some sort of miracle?
Why not make us perfect - just like that! -,
Instead of watching all the nonsense, all the tat,
Too destructive to be comical,
Sprawl from the Challenger Deep to Ararat?
Of course, they can.
But these are not the gods to whom we pray
If we are sufficiently perceptive as to plan
Posthumous privilege. Oh, He began
When we first let Him down to wander away
And left us to the lesser deities
Who, I am much afraid, have little mercy
Now that God has turned His back on us, so tersely
Non-committal - "That's the way it is.
So, let them curse me!" …
Truth-and-Beauty
Finding failure bitter and more alone,
Alone with a Mistake among the stars. "Oh shoot me
Happy with if any perfect one!
In self-extinction, what an end of duty!
Magnificent! I am Creation's quick,
And nothing now is perfect save My being;
Deleting that, nothing perfection, and therefore (agreeing
That ultimate pure perfection is what I seek)
Perfection - Nothing."
The little gods laugh
.
They pick up their lightnings, greased in a flash, and hurled
Through Immortality (unwounded as a loch
Showered with pine-pins at the brink) to scoff
Omnipotence stripped of self-rule and runaway world.
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RING-PASS-NOT
No greater darkness is there known
Than when the Old Malefic One
Intrudes upon the Over-Sun,
Between the soul and Heaven's throne.
Yet every soul on circling Earth
Is core and crown of radiant Light
And all are glorious in the Night
To bring divinity to birth.
For under Saturn's murmuring ring
The little will for right or wrong
May listen for a mightier song
And join itself to Everything ...
Caught in a leaden chord of Time,
If it is silent, patient, still
The soul will pulse to its Father's Will,
A twin to Love and Joy sublime.
Without the ancient Dweller there
No little Sun with feet of flame
Could play the holy hero's game
With ladders of the Reaper's hair.
Over the wall of dark and death
We climb (or else die whimpering there)
- And find it a triumphant stair
To Lightning and the Holy Breath.
O Sun of Suns, O Mystery,
You wait for us beyond the wheel,
Spinning our reason to conceal
Your hands upon our history.
O Mind of Minds, our journey's end,
Your wisdom set the Ring-Pass-Not
Where men become the Fools of God
Or of the self. Here waits our Friend.
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PORTA COELI
1.
I looked on Jupiter by night
Too large, a red and dusky light
Which in a spasm spread the sky
To blind, engulf and terrify.
2.
I stand with others in a room;
Out of the window all is still.
Nothing but water meeting sky.
My Master calls beyond the sill.
3.
We gather in a holy place
To pray. I see my Lady's face
And figure stream with sparkling light
And I am lifted to the height
Of floating incense through Her grace
Higher than prayer. All who see
Wonder, and wait for prophecy.
4.
We reap the whirlwind. Houses fall.
Amid the gale, my Lord I call -
"This is your house, and we are yours!
Stilled instantly, the storm withdraws.
5.
Men sit or stand, await the Word.
"You must seek out your chosen Lord,
You are the one to forge the bond
Till He embraces you beyond.
Yours are the words, the striving love
Requited in the realms above."
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THE HEALER
Candles do flare, my friend;
The dark responds
To the mind's fingering.
Even the fear you feel
Is very real,
Alone, and walking
Motionless up a dream of stairs
Leading to pain and sorrow where she lies
Too close to her forebears.
The night may come to your call;
One flame may form
A spire, and a woman live.
If you are wise, however, you will give
All thanks to God you did not lose yourself.
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SHE WHO HAS COME THROUGH
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles
He set you in the midst of speaking women -
Women who sleeping speak,
Who are waged by war -
And the glory of His people Israel
Is your keepsake
As an old god marches through Faversham
In his sleep, in his sleep,
And they turn where his head turns
From fire and cloud,
Bespoke women who turn to the old stones -
Blind pumice, circle of basalt -
Unable to watch you rise
In full Sun.
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THE SILVER LINING
“There is a silver lining to each cloud...”
I heard you whispering the words aloud
As you lay dying. By the hospice bed
A cup of sterile water; overhead
The drip that gave you some relief from pain -
Until the crisis took your breath again.
You smiled at me, and looked toward the door;
The strangest look I’d never seen before.
A light was in your face and hollowed eyes,
One faint gasp ... of joy? Or of surprise?
One frail hand was raised a little, then
Let fall on the pristine sheet again.
“Please don’t go!” I took your slender fingers.
“Nothing is worse than a life that lingers
Once the call of Paradise has come,”
You whispered. “Everything I am is numb
Except my Self, my mind; it longs to fly
And watch this worn-out woman’s body die.”
I said, “I shall be with you to the end
And pray to God that you are right, dear friend.”
You stared at me at last, your eyes were shining.
“This is the fleeting cloud with the silver lining,
The dark nimbus of your misery.
Be happy! With my death my love is free
And every grateful thought of you a kiss
That you will feel; an unimagined bliss,
An understanding never fully known
To you before, a truth you will be shown.
“The point of life is ultimately found
Only in giving the body to the ground,
The spirit going home. I leave behind
The Earth’s great school for the growing mind,
The whole rich curriculum of life -
Children, mother, lover, sister, wife,
Work, worries, friendship, some success...
Please be happy for my happiness!”
And in that moment you were gone. I saw
Nothing rise, or leave ... but where before
Vividly there was you, only a shape
Remained, witness to your Great Escape.
I touched your cooling hand, I felt your brow -
Nothing here to animate them now.
Where was the childhood friend so dear to me?
Surely more than a fragile memory?
Nurses bustled round the curtained bed.
Kindly, “You’ll need a cup of tea,” they said.
“Come back up here in fifteen minutes, then
You can be quiet with your friend again.”
I did; I did. And briefly was allowed
One precious, holy moment; for my cloud
Was torn apart - the ward, the world was shining
With everlasting life, the silver lining.
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1The Entertainer
(A Double Acrostic)
The Entertainer
His life on the line
Enters his prison.
Ecce Houdini ...
Nail-biting drama
Tears at his contract;
End of career?
Royal theatre ...
Taking his moment
Anchored in iron
In that display case;
No hope of rescue.
Exit. The last breath
Rises triumphant.
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GOD KNOWS ABOUT ANEMONES
> God knows about anemones,
He knows about the winkle,
He knows about the night, and why
The constellations twinkle.
He knows about the mother moon
Who lullabies the river
And rocks the cradle of the deep
Asleep in sheets of silver.
He knows where all the starry dust
In dusky earth is hidden,
And why the tiny turtle seeks
The sea unseen, unbidden.
He knows about volcanoes, and
The sparrow in the gutter
He even knows why Frances felt
The urge to make some butter!
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HE MAKETH ME TO LIE DOWN
IN GREEN PASTURES ...
Some thing is sheep-dogging me.
It drives me over the field of my desires
Crouching patch-eyed at the boundary,
A swift snarl plugging each gap in the wires.
Every circle I make toward the outer sky
After the worn ground, is nipped back
In a belly-streak, determined I shall die
Of circumscription; not for any lack
Of tears for what I might be, me and my brethren -
We have huddled askance and shot star-like apart
To confuse and out-flank our enemy; but whether in
Sheer stupidity or lack of heart
We fail, and are whipped in by a whistle, who knows.
We stare silly at the same trough and the same tree
In the same chewed patch where nothing new grows,
Consoling ourselves with familiarity.
We know the way so well. We have, amid usual mayhem,
Rutted here, hating our poor fellows;
The hound’s eye rolls reflected in each of them.
Our only heaven is one clump of willows
Under an April rainbow - as I mate
In the dog-watch the unsuspected eye
Snapping each vain attempt to procreate
A vision of free hills and a different sky ...
I would stand outside the fence, you see. I would lean there,
Once out, not escape. I would not like to strand
My old company, but show them the fresh air
And all the patterns vanishing from my hand.
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HYMN
Let there be love for every living form,
