Another poem:
Voices of the eschaton
I.
Appearing small in crowds or whisked away
no name I know nor need I know to give
to each his own, from each alike receive;
but names they have and names I s’pose I may
use just as well as any other tool
to calculate the Just, constrain raw might;
nor need I name myself to claim my rights
except convention set the name as rûle;
and shou’d affection call me forth: ‘Enjoy,
enjoy, enjoy your precious, only life,’
’tis true that making friends or choosing wives
will benefit if we our names deploy.
Yet perfect names are more it can be shown
if one but once is called by name and known.
II.
Ah, what delight! I take your point, my friend,
but let’s not take a clever point too far.
A novel thought will make my heart to soar
’til earth and sky it seems turn end on end;
and I all giddy belt that, ‘starward bound
I’ll map the skies ’til each and all is known.
By stars, the rigid past be overthrown!’
And boasting thus, I deadly find the ground.
Let’s stay on earth and earthly live a life.
The names we share — I mean our perfect names —
cannot by rights be shared with all the same,
but only these: your friend, your kin, your wife.
Nor even they shou’d know the name that’s you.
A pseudo-name quite near your own will do.
III.
To speak a name in vain the Lord forbade,
and more than this, that none shall live who see —
who face-to-face feign eye the Trinity;
and all be vain, the wisest man has said.
Though vainest men upon the face confess
and scholarly dissect the finest points,
‘tut tut for tit’ and ‘tit for tat’ rejoins,
and from each word know ever less and less—
though vainly know they nought but fortune’s face,
they know not this at all, the eye unsate
by sight, which crookedness with joy berate.
By sight and speech is damned the human race.
If voice and vision vainly make despair,
is hope a dreadful, silent darkness bare?
IIII.
Who see the face see far beyond the seen;
who speak the name much more than spoken speak.
Absurdity! Is power ever meek?
Is glory mocked or filth proclaimed as clean?
And anyway, the seen is quite enough —
a burden borne (when borne) with eyes half-closed;
and spoken words when sharpened well are woes
like serpents’ teeth. I say, it’s quite enough.
I do not like to look for deeper truth.
With stakes so high and life so short as this,
let Truth be seized and nailed, upon my kiss.
I shed this tear for memories of youth;
For youth I’ve lost as age has taught me well:
To keep your life, just pay your debt to Hell.
V.
The tips of wings the stillest waters cleave.
The lips approach, almost, almost a kiss. —
What terrifies and consummates in bliss.
From elsewhere, here, my heart I now receive.
Tho’ ev’ry worldly power be increased,
and science master all her noble goals,
these cannot harm nor heal a human soul;
But all is changed by one small breath released.
Released from flesh for flesh a holy breath, —
a breath to bind or loose all from all deeds,
which all too oft’ appealed to fated need,
and compromised, concessions made to death,
not heeding heralds’ joyous shouting, ‘Lo!
Rejoice! Thy death were conquered long ago.’
August 10, 2009
