LOOKING OUT I SAW THE RISING SUN
OVER A FAINT HAZE OF GREEN SPROUTS. WE PEOPLED
THE VIRGIN EARTH, AND FOR A LONG SPELL RULED
IN A CONGRESS OF SLOW BUT PROFOUND COMMAND, IN LEAGUE
WITH THE ACID & MINERAL COUNCIL OF RAPHAEL
ABOUT WHICH OUR SENIOR POET SPEAKS TOMORROW.
SO THE RACES OF VEGETABLE GREEN BEGAN,
THEIR SITES APPORTIONED WITH THEIR ATTRIBUTES,
AND ASIDE FROM SOME PROFUSION & SOME SLIGHT
EXTINCTION THESE HAVE SENSIBLY PREVAILED
FOR 980,000,000 SUN YEARS. AND NOW
LET ME TALK OF THE TONGUES & WAYS OF COMMUNION AMONG US.
OUR ‘RULING’ ONES, THE FAMILY OF MOSS,
ESTABLISHED A TACTILE LANGUAGE. AND THROUGH THIS NETWORK
EVEN TODAY IN FREEZING TUNDRAS AS WORD SPREADS
(‘DROUGHT! FLOOD! ICE! MAN!’) WE SHRINK, WE ADVANCE,
SOME OF US GIVEN EARLY ALONG TO LORD GABRIEL
KILL. OTHERS, LORD EMMANUEL’S CHILDREN,
CURE WITH IODINE OR SUCCOR THE THIRSTY IN DESERTS.
MICHAEL’S BREED BECAME TREES, THE AIR’S COMMUNION
WITH DEEPEST EARTH. WE PROSPERED, AND MADE WELCOME
GOD’S FIRST ANIMAL CREATURES (MORE OF THESE
FROM OUR GREAT SCIENTIST).
LAST: ASIDE FROM CREATING
THESE CREATURES’ FOOD & BREATH, WE ARE THE RESTING PLACE
OF SOUL. OUR DEEP RHYTHMS KEEP THE HUMAN PULSE.
OUR INCREASE QUICKENS, OUR WITHDRAWAL SLOWS IT.
WE ARE BOTH GRAZING LAND AND FINAL PLENISHMENT.
SO FROM THIS TIP & LOWLY BLADE, LORD MICHAEL,
LORDS, POETS, DOCTEUR, AND DEAR SORE HAND,
I HAVE LOOKED OUT, THOUGHT OF THE VEGETABLE WORLD,
AND HOPE TO HAVE MADE SENSE OF IT.
She’s done.
Michael arises, sketches in the airy
Gesture of Apollo Belvedere,
And on her brow appears a laurel crown.
Mich.
CHERE MADAME, HAVE YOU NOT! GABRIEL, NO QUESTIONS?
Gabr.
NONE.
Mich.
CASE RESTS. SENIOR POET, YOU WITH WINGED FEET,
TOMORROW BRING US UP FROM CLAY
THE LECTURE OF THE SECOND DAY!
Exeunt.
Maman, are you receiving
Bouquets in the green room? That was sheer
Lucid eloquence! Well, I’m not sure
We understood about the “human pulse,”
But for the rest—! ENFANTS WE WERE INSTRUCTED
TO USE THE ‘POETIC LANGUAGE’ (HORRIBLE, EH?)
BUT I SLIPPED SOME HARD FACTS IN. ‘BREATH’: OXYGEN
PRODUCTION IS, WITH FOOD, MAIN JOB OF VEG.
THEIR SYSTOLE (WORD LOANED BY GK) HELPS
LIMIT POP EXPLOSION. THAT WHOLE REALM’S
CONTACT WITH LES FRERES DE SCHOOLROOM FRENCH
IS THRU EACH SPECIES, THUS CONTROLLABLE
BY THE R LAB Yes, what about that French?
WHO KNOWS? BABY LANGUAGE? MOI JE CROIS
IT’S BETTER THAN MY ENGL AH NO! I’VE GOT IT!
HA HA HA IT’S BECAUSE MICHAEL TOOK
UMBRAGE AT W’S SLURS ON HIS POETICS
AH LE PAUVRE! DJ: But your research?
You entered those green cells, you climbed that tree
Inside the tree? And was it marvelous
Beyond all saying ? AH ENFANT YES YES
& DO U KNOW I THINK OUR 3-WAY PROJECT
HAS RECONCILED US TO WHATEVER LIES
IN STORE? THEY NOD SURRENDER GLOWS IN MANLY EYES
*
UNICE IS HERE! Where were you yesterday?
I STOOD OUTSIDE THE SCHOOLROOM DOOR
AS LIGHT BLAZED THRU CHINKS & CRACKS!
MY MASTER HID THEY ARE VERY HIGH
O SEE THE LIGHT! SIRS I LEAVE Y
The Middle Lessons: 2
The company has entered, come to order.
One new touch only—in the carpet’s border
A vine-meander, yesterday unseen,
Is now distinct, spring shades of blue and green.
Mich.
COME SENIOR POET, DO NOT US DISMAY
WITH THAT YOU HAVE TO TELL, THIS SECOND DAY!
Unsightly slippers hidden beneath rich
Earth-colored folds, Wystan begins his speech:
MY LORDS AND FELLOWS,
THE ATOMS OF DEMOCRITUS, THE BRIGHT
DANCE OF NEWTON’S PARTICLES SO THRILLED
HIS MIND, THAT A GREAT POET FILLED
THE TENTS OF ISRAEL WITH LIGHT.
SIRS, MAY THIS BE THE TEXT I TAKE?
JM.
He’s quoting someone.
WHA.
(REALLY JM! BLAKE!)
Mich.
PROCEED, POET. WE ATTEND.
WHA.
THEREFORE I PUT THIS TO YOU, LORDS:
THE TRUE POET IS, OF ALL THE SCRIBES, MOST DRAWN
TO THE CONCRETE. YES SIRS, WE THRIVE ON IT!
NOT POLITICS, LITTLE OF MANNERS & CURRENT FASHION,
LITTLE, TOO, OF THE GREAT RINGING ‘THEMES’
THRILL US, BUT FACTS DO. YES SIRS, THEY DO.
MAY I NOW IMPART SOME? Consultation.
Gabr.
POET, IF YOU OVERSTEP…
WHA.
SIRS, ONE MORE THING?
Mich.
POET?
WHA.
IF I MAY SAY SO, WE DO NOT WORK WELL TO ORDER.
Mich.
POET, YOU AND YOURS ARE FREE. HOW LONG IT HAS TAKEN YOU TO MAKE YOUR CLAIM!
ARE WE NOT ASTONISHED, BROTHERS? WE BREATHE EASY NOW!
Determinism’s thistle, seed by seed,
Drifts outward, silken, from what Michael said.
The cup “goes round” like a general sigh of relief.
Raph.
POET, I YOUR FATHER SAY, UNBURDEN YOUR EARTHY WISDOM. PRAY PROCEED.
WHA.
ALL OF IT, SIRS?
All eyes on Gabriel, who nods curtly: ALL.
WHA.
LORDS, MADAME, DEAR DOCTOR, BROTHER JAMES
& PATIENT HAND, I BRING EQUIVOCAL NEWS.
WE HERE TREMBLE ON A CRUST SO FRAGILE
IT NEEDS GOD’S CONSTANT VIGIL TO KEEP US AFLOAT.
I SANK INTO VEIN AFTER VEIN, WENT DEEP INTO PLACES
SO NEAR THE FIRE THAT I FELT THE HELL TOUCH.
MAY I SPEAK OF THAT, LORD GABRIEL?
Gabr.
POET, I TOO WILL HAVE MY SAY. SPEAK IF YOU WILL OF ITS HEAT & NOISE. I WILL GIVE ITS MEANING.
WHA.
THERE, SUCH A FIERCE ENTIRE & INFERNAL HEAT
SMOTE MY SPIRIT THAT I FOR COURAGE CALLED
UPON THE SHRINKING ROCK & WRENCHED ME FREE
FROM UNENLIGHTENED MEMORIES OF THE FALLEN.
Gabr.
(After a pause) PROCEED, POET.
WHA.
NEXT, ABASHED, I WENT TO THE REFERENCE
BANKS OF THE CENTER.
Gabr.
(A longer pause) PROCEED.
WHA.
IN THE BEGINNING GOD
WAS GIVEN, TO SHAPE HIS WORLD, A TWO-EDGED GIFT.
HIS BROTHERS OF THE PANTHEON ALLOWED
MATERIALS, BUT WITH THE PROVISO: ‘GO
BUILD, YOUNGEST BROTHER, ONLY TAKE THIS ONE,
OUR MONITOR, TO DWELL WITHIN YOUR BALL.
FOR OUR WILL MUST EVER BE DONE.’ LORD
GABRIEL?
Gabr.
POET?
WHA.
WAS I TOO NEAR?
Gabr.
I SENT YOU BACK UNHARMD. UNDERSTAND, POET! NONE HAS BEEN ALLOWD SUCH FREEDOM AS YOU THREE SHADES. DO NOT
Mich.
PEACE, BROTHER GABRIEL. WE AGREED THESE LESSONS WOULD BE FOR BOTH GOD AND MORTAL FOOD FOR THOUGHT.
AND IS IT NOT SO, POET? FOOD IN YOUR LEXICON IS HIGHLY SPICED? IF NOT UNPALATABLE, OFTEN NEARLY SO?
WHA.
SIR, TO BE POETS WE RISK POISONING.
Mich.
PROCEED, POET.
WHA.
THEREFORE I SAY THIS OF OUR FRAGILE EARTH:
IS IT DOOMED? IF SO, WILL OUR LINEAGE, OUR LINES
MEAN MUCH, LOST IN A POLLIWOG SEA OF ATOMS?
Mich.
POET, TUG.
WHA.
MY FIRST LINE RUNS OFF INTO CHEMICALS
WHERE GOD FISHED. THESE SPAWNED A TRAGIC CREATURE,
INNOCENT, ABANDONED. THAT CREATURE SPAWNED
(SIRS, HOW NEAT) ITS OWN DESTRUCTION, FROM…?
Gabr.
POET, I WILL EXPLAIN. PROCEED.
WHA.
MY NEXT LINE IS LOST IN THE CLAY FLOOR OF THE SEA.
Mich.
TUG!
WHA.
LORD GABRIEL, ARE WE YOURS?
A beam of fire caresses Wystan’s face.
Gabr.
I WILL EXPLAIN, O POET.
WHA.
HAVE I A LINE LEFT, SIRS,
TO FISH ME A BETTER CREATURE? OR ARE YOURSELVES
DISPOSED TO MAKE SOME BETTER THING OF US?
Gabr.
POET, SLY POET, THIS IS NOT YOUR TEXT!
WHA.
SIRS, THOSE ATOMS & THOSE PARTICLES
OF LIGHT, THEY ARE THE GLOW WITHIN OUR TENTS.
THESE, STAKED IN THE FRAIL CRUST, OUR ONLY SHELTER.
EARTH IS OUR GROUND, SIRS. MADAME CLOTHED IT. I
HAVE SEEN IT BARE, NAY WORSE, HAVE SEEN ITS BONES,
HEARD AT ITS HEART THE MONITOR’S RAGING WILL.
SIRS, SAVE OUR TENTS, AND SUCH A MIRACLE
UPFLOWING FROM THIS LUMINOUS MEMBRANE
WILL CAUSE THE MONITOR TO PULSE THROUGH BLACK
GALACTIC SPACES: THEY SURVIVE! THEY HOLD IT BACK!
In a brief hush the cup fights to contain
The carpet’s buffs and grays gleam like washed sand.
Round Wystan’s neck appears a golden chain.
Mich.
GABRIEL? A look exchanged. CASE RESTS.
BROTHERS, POETS, MADAME (YOU ARE ONE OF THESE), DOCTOR & HAND:
WE LEAVE OUR STEAMY SESSION, BUT NOT IN DISARRAY,
AND WAIT ON SCIENCE OUR THIRD DAY.
Exeunt.
TOWELS! Wystan, what a gem—
Every facet cut so tellingly.
THEY’RE NOT TELLING, ARE THEY? WE DOOMED THREE
HAVE MADE A PACT: TO PRY IT OUT OF THEM!
GK OUR FINAL LEVER When you wondered
If we were Gabriel’s—? HAS HE ALREADY
CLAIMED US? DJ: As his? He wouldn’t—would he?
How does it end? MY DEAR THEY’VE ‘ASKED’ JM
FOR A PIECE OF WORK. THEY CAN’T JUST GO ON SPILLING
HERE A BEAN THERE A BEAN, IF & AS THEY PLEASE:
ALL MUST MAKE SENSE JM: Even, God willing,
To me. OUR ?S CAUSE EMBARRASSMENT
BECAUSE YR WORK MY BOY IS (I FEAR) MEANT
TO BE A BIT OF WHITEWASH FOR THE BROTHERS.
YET GABRIEL IS…HONEST, IS…WELL, LET HIM
IDENTIFY HIMSELF U NO DOUBT KNOW
I do? MY DEAR SHAPE UP U’VE HAD ENOUGH
BEAUTIFUL WORDS FROM US TIME TO TALK TOUGH!
Let George do it!
I WILL: ALL SET TO GO
PERHAPS MY FINEST (FINAL?) MOMENT JIMMY
Good luck, my friend. It may not be too late.
WE LOWER THE TENT FLAP, YOU STEAL AWAY
TREMBLING TO MEET ANOTHER DAY.
George? Wystan?
MAMAN: THE NEW LAUREATE!
SIRS THIS IS UNICE THE LADY IN LEAVES
Is our beloved friend. & MINE SO MERRY!
SHE CROPPED ME A TWIG OF HER CROWN TO EAT
AND SAID ‘GO CHEER THEM, TELL THEM A TALE’
SHALL I? We’re listening. SO MANY WELL:
A YOUNG RACER YEARNED TO MATE
WITH A FAIR FEMALE HE COULD NOT COAX.
HE GALLOPED! LEAPT OVER ALARMING GULLIES!
RACED ROUND THE COURSE AHEAD OF ALL!
BUT SHE DID NOT LOOK. AT LAST HE CRIED:
WHY IS THIS? I AM HERE! & HE
NUDGED HER! HE TOOK A NIP OF HER HAIR!
SHE LEAPT STARTLED THEN SOFTLY SAID:
I AM BLIND. HE REPLIED: THEN YOU
WILL NEED ME NEAR. THIS TALE TAUGHT US
NOT TO BE VAIN IN LOVE, BUT TRUE.
We’re silent. WELL, THIS IS UNICE SAYING GOODBYE
*
Now comes the halfway point that tips the scale
From Yes to No. D gnaws at a hangnail,
Glares out at mountain greenery and groans.
They’ve picked this Sunday for our telephone’s
Seasonal breakdown. Neither Lab nor Rat
Soul will rescue us with idle chat.
Robert, unreachable, no doubt has gone
On to grander things than Mendelssohn.
JM: There’s always Uni. We could page
Our peacock?— Bah, cold comfort at this stage.
What’s eating us? Resistance of a kind
Unlikely to be praised, dumb, wilful, blind…
A long nap is the answer, then the shock
Of shower and coffee. Sharp at six o’clock:
The Middle Lessons: 3
Mich.
COME GOOD DOCTOR, HAVE YOUR SAY
ON THIS TURNING POINT THAT IS TODAY.
George in a short-sleeved bluegreen surgeon’s gown
And skullcap rises. As he speaks he’ll prowl
Restlessly here, there, back and forth, his owl
Eye fixing the Brothers LIKE SOME RARE FULLBLOWN
CULTURE ON A SLIDE! He’s a broadchested youth,
Tall, dark. Maria listens, her lips part—
Touched, she confesses wryly, to the heart
By his FIERCE GREEKNESS and his LOVE OF TRUTH.
GK.
LORD O MICHAILIS, AND LORDS RAPHAEL
AND EMMANUEL, AND LORD PATRON GABRIEL,
HAIL! I AM THE N IN ‘AND’ (READ NEUTRON)
& THE A IN ‘KAI’ (READ ATOMIC). WE HAVE REACHED
THE MIDPOINT.
DJ.
The a in what?
JM.
In kai. (The Greek for ‘and’)
GK.
I AM PROFOUNDLY HONORED, LORDS,
TO SPEAK FOR SCIENCE HERE, AND GRATEFUL TOO,
LORD GABRIEL, THAT YOU CONDUCTED ME
INTO YOUR CENTER. NO EARTHLY LABORATORY
HOLDS A CANDLE TO WHAT I HAVE SEEN THERE
IN THE CELLS OF MY OWN MIND, AS YOU ILLUMINED THEM
ONE BY ONE, FOR ME. AND NOW MY TEXT:
MATTER.
(Matter? He’d been going, said Maria,
To talk about the creatures of God B.)
Gabr.
PROCEED, MY SON.
GK.
LORDS, WE HAVE KNOWN
OF THE ATOM SINCE AKHNATON. WE KNOW AS WELL
/> ITS PARTS AND POWERS: THAT FLUTTER, THAT HEARTBEAT
OF ATTRACTION & REPULSION. ON SUCH WINGS
CAME GOD.
NOW IN THAT WHIRL IS A REVERSE WHIRL
MAKING, AS IN THE BEATEN WHITE OF EGG,
FOR THICKENING, FOR DENSITY, FOR MATTER.
YES, FROM THIS OPPOSITION, WHICH HOLDS SWAY
NO LESS WITHIN MAN’S SOUL, LORDS, CAME THE FIRST
MINUTE PASTE THAT WAS GOD’S MATERIAL.
IN SHORT: THE ELEMENTS FROM A ‘WHITE’ SOURCE
RESISTED THOSE OF A ‘BLACK’ OR ‘SHADOW’ FORCE.
THIS IS THE DICHOTOMY I HAVE BEEN
PRIVILEGED TO INVESTIGATE. IF WE IMAGINE
MATTER (A CHILD’S VIEW BUT ACCURATE)
AS BEING ‘SOMETHING FROM NOTHING’ WE ARE READY
TO BROACH THE ESSENCE OF GOD BIOLOGY.
‘NOTHING’: IN MY UNPRECEDENTED BRUSH WITH THIS
(THANK YOU, LORD GABRIEL) I GLIMPSED NOT VOID BUT
SOLID EMPTINESS. AS WHO SHOULD FLING
A WINDOW UP ONTO A WALL OF GRAY CEMENT,
THAT WAS MY ‘NOTHING’. TOUCHABLE? MY MIND
REACHED OUT FEARFULLY (LORDS, DO NOT ASSUME
SCIENCE IS FEARLESS) AND THE BRUSH? A HUM,
A SUCKING, A RUB AGAINST IMPLACABLE
CONTRADICTION. MASTER? LORD GABRIEL?
Gabr.
I WILL HAVE MY SAY, DOCTOR.
GK.
Breaks off—briefly dumbfounded? self-misled?
Maria winks. He grins, takes up the thread:
LIPON, WELL…YES.
SO I HAD REACHED THE END OF MATTER. HAD I?
IF IT HAS AN END, WE KNOW IT MUST BE DIMENSIONAL:
THAT MUCH IS CHILDSPLAY. YET WHEN ONE IS ALONE
DYING, OR SIMPLY FRIGHTENED BEFORE SLEEP
ONE CANNOT FLINCH. SO, LORDS, IF THIS WAS MATTER,
THEN IT WAS GOOD: IT HELD THE OTHER BACK.
LORD GABRIEL?
Gabr.
MY DAY WILL COME.
GK.
WE MUST ASSUME THAT GOOD
MATTER RESISTS BAD, THAT MATTER’S VERY
NATURE AND ORIGIN ARE THIS RESISTANCE. LORDS?
GOD BIOLOGY—DID HIS DIMENSIONLESS
BLANK ENERGY, UNMEASURABLE, COME
FROM A TRIUMPH OVER, OR A COMPROMISE WITH,
BLACK MATTER? AT THAT FLUNG-UP WINDOW I
WAS STOPPED. LORDS? IF THE POET NEEDS CONCRETE
FACT, NO LESS DOES THE SCIENTIST. DENSITIES,
MEANINGS OF LIFE & DEATH, THE WORKINGS OF
VEGETABLE & MINERAL ELEMENTS,
THE SOUL CELL AND THE HEART OF THE INFERNO,
ALL THESE I HAVE GRATEFULLY LEARNED: ME, GEORGE,
A SIMPLE PATHOLOGIST. YET LORDS, MASTER, I MUST
KNOW, MUCH AS THE POET, SOMETHING MORE.
The Changing Light at Sandover Page 40