Collected Poems

by Anthony Burgess

  And cast into the fire, there to dissolve

  To a scalding broth. ‘This,’ he cried, ‘was your God.’

  It was mingled with water and thrust down the sinners’ throats.

  Nor was this all. The grosser sinners were stoned,

  Hanged, pierced by arrows, hurled from the slopes

  (But not Dathan, whose destiny lay otherwise,

  Whose potency of grossness was, as it were,

  Decreed as a thorn for Moses). The masons chose

  New stone and shaped it for a new covenant.

  And Moses, before he sought the peak of Horeb

  Once more, Joshua with him, asked the people:

  ‘Will you remember that this is the Lord your God,

  Who brought you out of Egyptian bondage? Will you

  Promise to worship no other God but Him,

  Nor to make images of things that are on the earth

  Or in the sky or rivers or seas for profane

  And sinful worship? Will you keep the Sabbath holy,

  Preserve the holiness of the family, honour your parents,

  Respect the sanctity of the bond of marriage? Do you

  Promise never to steal, never to murder,

  Never to lust after that what is another’s? Will you

  Keep the covenant the covenant will you

  Keep the covenant?’ Will will we will.

  The valley rang with shamed affirmation.

  Yes hurtled through the air as the last of the

  Condemned hurtled from the slopes. So Moses and Joshua

  Climbed Horeb for the second time, leaving below

  A chastened nation burying its dead,

  Burying much else. So time passed, with the covenant

  Unbroken, the covenant the sacred body of the law

  Inscribed not in the riddling signs of the priests

  They had known in Egypt but in a new way, a way

  Apt for a covenant, with signs for sounds of speech

  That all might read if they would, but the sacred stones

  Had to be housed in a sacred place. The craftsmen

  Built an arc of wood, with beauty and cunning

  Spent on it to the utmost, and here the covenant

  Was tabernacled. Moses said Aaron:

  ‘It is in your keeping, Aaron. Aaron the priest.’ –

  ‘The priest,’ Aaron said. ‘How must I take that?

  In a manner of a punishment?’ But Moses said:

  ‘A priest is God’s voice. Could any man wish

  To be higher than God’s voice?’ – ‘Once,’ Aaron said,

  ‘I was your voice.’ – ‘And so,’ his brother replied,

  ‘Take this not in manner of a punishment but in

  Manner of a promotion’. They looked at each other,

  A curve unreadable on each other’s lips,

  And Aaron said: ‘Well then – to my first office.’

  And Moses: ‘God be with you, man of God.’

  So Aaron was enrobed and he walked to the ark

  And reverently shut the covenant within,

  Improvising a ceremony: ‘Hereon is inscribed

  God’s law. The very stone shall be accounted

  Sacred. Behold our God is a just God.’

  Stiff-jointed the people knelt. Then Moses knelt.

  And Aaron the priest prayed: ‘God, who art a just God,

  Be also, we beseech, a forgiving God.

  For men are weak, being made but of earth’s clay,

  Quick to transgress. If, Lord, we have sinned once,

  Will we not sin again? If we were perfect,

  Would we not have need of thee?’ Moses, kneeling,

  Was thoughtful (weak – forgiving). After sunset,

  Zipporah, his wife, preparing Ghersom, his son,

  For sleep, heard Ghersom’s question once more:

  ‘Is he still very busy?’ – ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘busy.

  He has the whole of Israel to look after.’ –

  ‘When’ asked Ghersom, ‘will he be with us again?’

  But, before she could answer, a shadow stood between

  His bed and the lamp of sheep-fat. Ghersom said:

  ‘You had better not stay too long, sir. Israel needs you.’

  And Moses smiled and wept and took his wife

  In trembling arms. ‘Who am I’, trembling, ‘to reproach,

  Even to talk of sin or weakness? To forgive

  If forgiveness is needed – enough. Forgive me too,’

  As she sobbed in his arms. ‘We all have to start again.’ –

  ‘It was little enough’, she sobbed. ‘Wine in my head,

  A pair of young arms in the dance. But it was too much.’ –

  ‘Learning is heard,’ he said. ‘We all have to learn.

  And now we can start again.’ There were family embraces,

  Sobs, even laughter as Ghersom said once more:

  ‘Israel needs you. How long will you stay?’

  But the time of staying under the mountain in the valley

  Of Jethro was now to end. An order of march was worked out,

  Moses drawing with his stave on the sandy earth,

  Saying: ‘There in the midst the ark of the covenant,

  With its own bodyguard drawn from the Levites. No enemy

  Shall take it, no infidel defile it. It is our hub,

  And, as twelve spokes, the fixed and changeless posts

  Of the tribes,’ showing – Dan, Reuben, Benjamin…

  ‘A battle order,’ Joshua said. And Moses:

  ‘You may call it that.’ Then Caleb: ‘When do we march?’

  And Moses pondered. ‘Miriam,’ he said to Aaron.

  ‘How is she?’ Aaron said: ‘Very sick. But ready.

  Ready to go to the land.’ She will not see it,

  Moses told himself. But it is better thus,

  To die striving forward, in others’ hope.

  ‘So,’ he pronounced, ‘we move tomorrow at dawn.’

  There was weeping at the well when they took their leave of Jethro

  And his daughters, some now married, some not. Weeping

  Of many over many graves, brethren buried,

  Much else buried. Miriam, pale, wasted,

  Lay in rugs on an ox-cart, Eliseba tending her.

  Just before the raising of the staff as signal, incorrigible

  Dathan rooted in the ashes of the punitive fire

  And came up with a thumb-nail fragment of the gold, holding

  That nothingness up to the sun; the sun swallowed it.

  They took their last look of Horeb, its peak no longer

  Enmisted: eagles circled there. Towards rock,

  Desert, thirst, hunger, the law in their midst,

  They moved.

  12

  DEATH AND THE LAW

  At the next oasis Miriam’s end drew near.

  Moses wiped her fever, in the coolness of a cave,

  And Miriam shuddered painfully, hearing from without

  That marriage song of the young: ‘It will happen again.

  Again.”’But Moses soothed her, saying: ‘This

  Is a different excitement: they already smell

  The air of our promised land, or think they do.

  The hope lies with the young. The old, alas,

  Are more than ever set in the old ways.

  They have learned fear but not yet understanding.

  And you, my sister, how is it with you?’

  She murmured: ‘I lose blood. I am weak. But feel

  Little pain. I shall be glad to move on.

  Move on. No more. Towards something even if we

  Never reach it.’ – ‘We shall reach it,’ he said.

  ‘There’s a hunger to build – especially with the young.

  To build, say, a temple and then a city

  To hold the temple.’ She said: ‘I will not see it,

  But it matters little enough. My w
ork, the work

  I was ordained to do has been long done.

  You were my work. My name perhaps will be known

  For that. Girls given the name of Miriam.

  It is something. I rescued a child from murderers.

  And if I had not rescued that child – ’ He said:

  ‘You were ordained to. It was all laid down.

  We are all in God’s pattern.’ But she, distressed:

  ‘Was that too part of God’s pattern? Is then evil

  Part of God’s pattern?’ – ‘We must believe it,’ he said.

  ‘If evil is in man it must come from his maker.’

  ‘And it goes on’, she said. ‘It will go on.

  Law will not quench it. I see much evil to come.

  Law will not contain it. Nor will punishment.’ –

  ‘But men,’ he insisted, ‘learn from their own transgressions.

  There will be no more building of golden calves.

  Other things perhaps – man is ingenious.

  He gets his ingenuity from God.’

  And then she wept. ‘They had ceased to be men and women.

  I could do nothing.’ Later her mind rambled

  Or grew prophetic. ‘I heard the soldiers singing

  Their dirty song. And God surely was there,

  For if they had not been singing they would have heard,

  Heard him crying. A new-born cry, very loud

  In the night. But God made them sing their song,

  Which was filthy and evil, and so they did not hear.

  Little floating cradle. Meant to live,

  He was meant to live. Girl girl, they said,

  Who are you, girl, can you get him a wet nurse, girl?

  And I did. Poor mother. But he lived, lived.

  A pretty baby. They made him an Egyptian.’

  (The moon showed Passover, the angel passing over.

  ‘Will he pass over tonight?’ the children asked,

  Making sour faces over the bitter herbs,

  The hard dry bread.) ‘They would not see it,’ said Miriam.

  ‘Many gods, like bits of pottery,

  A housewife’s pride, but not the one true God.

  So simple, and so many thousands of years

  For it to come to the light. And still they will not

  See it. And when they see it they will always say:

  What good is it, what good? For the pains of life

  Will not be easier. Truth makes nothing easier.

  But truth must be sought.’ Eliseba, hiding tears,

  Said: ‘Rest my dear, rest.’ But Miriam said:

  ‘Oh, there will be no rest. And when it is built,

  The city, it will be knocked down, and the temple

  Destroyed with the city. And it will go on and on.

  They will wander and be made to wander further.

  For there is no abiding city. Only the dark.

  I must speak to my brother Moses.’ Moses said:

  ‘I am here, Miriam.’ She said: ‘You will not see it.

  You will be forbidden to see it. It will take a

  Long time to be made clean.’ Then they waited

  For Miriam to say more, but she said no more.

  Her eyes were open, but said no more. And Aaron

  Closed her eyes, and then the wailing began.

  The angel, it was shuddered about the camp.

  Aaron said: ‘Let the soul of this thy servant

  Go calmly to its haven, where is no pain,

  Where the mill of the heart grinds no more

  Of the bread of tribulation.’ Moses touched her face.

  ‘Rest, Miriam, rest.’ Then left and went

  Into the dark to weep. So they buried her –

  Another grave to mark their journey. Buried her,

  With rites according to the law of Israel.

  Nothing stayed, but there was always the law…

  And Moses was administering the law one day

  When Caleb appeared to speak of a monstrous serpent

  Voided from a child’s body. ‘A bad omen.

  That is the general feeling.’ But Moses said:

  ‘Let us hear nothing of omens. Let us hear rather

  Of foolishness. What has the child been eating?’

  So the story came out: some of the Israelites

  Sick of their diet of mutton, traded a sheep

  For a pig from a wandering tribe that herded pigs.

  ‘The pig,’ said Moses, ‘is not like other beasts.

  It harbours worms in its gut and gives the worms

  To those who eat it. Call it an act of revenge,

  Though posthumous.’ Nobody smiled. Loudly he said:

  ‘Does it occur to no one that this serpent

  Is a consequence of eating forbidden flesh –

  Not a sign from heaven, but the passing on

  Of a disease from beast to man? Can they not think?

  Are they to be treated for ever like children?’ Caleb said:

  ‘There is no instruction about this. What is the law?

  It seems not to be covered by the basic ten.’ –

  ‘More laws,’ said Moses. ‘No food from now on may be eaten

  Without some act of supervision, God help us.

  We need priestly intervention even there.

  The body of the law must wax fat

  Because the brain of the Israelite is small.

  They cannot eat, God help us, without being

  Told what to eat. Shall we put the spoon to their mouths?’

  And, on another day, when Aaron was called

  To see a sick child, its loins inflamed,

  And its parents applying some filth of fat and spittle,

  He saw that the child was uncircumcised. ‘Dust,’ he said,

  ‘Dirt has been trapped there.’ The father: ‘We did not think.’ –

  ‘You did not think,’ said Aaron. ‘And yet Zipporah,

  Wife of our leader Moses, herself gave to God

  As an offering the foreskin of her firstborn.

  Was she not at that moment divinely inspired

  To do what was for the child’s good? We are, above all,

  A people of cleanliness. Remember that.

  We are not disease-ridden rats of the wilderness.

  Your son shall be circumcised.’ But the mother said:

  ‘I am not Zipporah. I could not take the knife

  To my precious.’ Aaron sighed. ‘It shall be done for you.

  So God be with you.’ And wearily he left.

  But there was yet another day when Moses

  Sat with his problems, in the cool of a cave,

  And a tribal leader came with another problem,

  A violation of the law of the Sabbath.

  ‘What were they doing?’ Moses wearily asked. –

  ‘Gathering palm fronds to feed a fire. It seemed

  Harmless enough, but, knowing that the covenant

  Is strict on the matter, knowing that you yourself – ’

  ‘Yes?’ said Moses. ‘ – Set great store by the

  Punctilious observance, as you term it

  Somewhat grandiloquently, is of the very

  Essence of the law. It is to do with man’s duty,

  Duty, not right, to abstain from labour

  That the body may be at peace and the spirit

  At one with God. With God. One day in seven –

  Can we not spare that day to honour our God?’ –

  ‘This,’ said the tribal leader, ‘is generally

  Recognised and accepted, but – after all,

  The gathering of a few palm fronds’ – ‘Yes?’ said Moses.

  ‘Wel,’ said the leader, ‘we were somewhat unsure

  Of an appropriate penalty. The men in question

  Were, naturally, rebuked. But they did not seem to be

  Truly repentant. And then what happened was – ’

  ‘Yes?’ sai
d Moses. – ‘What happened was that one of them

  Was discovered later looking for dry sticks –

  For tinder. The rebuke had been of no avail.’ –

  ‘So now?’ said Moses. – ‘Now I seek instruction.

  As to the appropriate mode of punishment.’

  Then Moses felt the wrestling within

  And the curse of his leadership was sour in his mouth,

  But, wearily, hopelessly, he said: ‘The holy rest

  Of the Sabbath must not be defiled. Let the miscreants

  Be stoned to death.’ The tribal leader did not

  Think that he… ‘Forgive me, I do not think that I

  Quite.’ And Moses: ‘My sentence was, I fancy,

  Clearly enough articulated. Let the miscreants

  Be stoned to death.’ The leader: ‘With respect and deference,

  I do not think that my people could at all

  Possibly accept such a harsh, a disproportionate –

  Forgive me. Sir.’ And Moses stood and said:

  ‘Can you or your people think of

  An alternative punishment? More rebukes? Torture?

  Turn them into living martyrs? Imprisonment?

  We are all imprisoned until we reach the land.

  Best be bold and have done with it. The law is the law,

  One, indivisible. To kill another man

  Merits death. To kill the Lord’s day,

  The living breathing peace that belongs to the Lord,

  Can that be accounted a lesser crime? The Lord God

  Is thus blasphemed against. Blasphemy,

  A sneer, a gob of spit in the face of God.

  Let them be stoned to death.’ He said no more,

  Returning to his rock seat and his problems,

  But the tribal leader was aghast. That very day

  The penalty was exacted – a wall-eyed thief,

  A thief whose hair shone gold in the sun, transfixed

  With twisted ropes to tree trunks, the crowd around

  Murmuring, and soon doing more than murmur

  When the muscles of the executioners

  Glistened in the sunlight. They took, in an easy rhythm,

  Rock after rock from the pile and hurled,

  Hurled. The one died quickly, faceless, but the other

  Lasted till there was not much of the human about him,

  And then his head dropped to his shoulder. Not murmurs,

  But yells of anger before the cave of Moses,

  And stones thrown. The armed guard held steady.

  Justice not murder to hell with your commandments

  Break your stones again murderer your laws are

  Nothing but murder. Grim, he came out. The stones flew.

  He bled from his brow. The guard hit back with staves.