For whom, like divers plunged abruptly back
Beyond their depth, this lesson was all black.
Time! No animal delusion now
But jet plume rising from the Shy One’s brow:
Time the destroyer—; but can’t Time renew
As well? WHO KNOWS WHAT TIME ALONE CAN DO,
TIME WITHOUT GOD OR NATURE RUNNING WILD
IN THE BAD DREAMS & BRAINCELLS OF ITS CHILD?
I see…I don’t see. Why should Time be black?
Why is it Gabriel’s? MY BOY THINK BACK:
WE MUST PRESUME THAT THE ORIGINAL
PACT WAS BETWEEN GOD BIO & THE BLACK
The Black beyond black, past that eerie Wall—
PAST MATTER BLACK OF THOUGHT UNTHINKABLE
Eater of energies, the suck and hum
Zeroing in upon Ideas until
They reach, like radium or plutonium,
Some half-way station to the void? THERE4
WHO FELL? Who fell? Not…the white angels! YES
No! The bat-angels fell—that was their constant
Refrain throughout Book I of Mirabell.
I SPEAK OF THE GREAT FALL FROM THE GALACTIC
PRECIPICE TO WHICH GOD SIGNALS BACK
Back to his Brothers, back to where he planned
The Greenhouse, long before he’d taken Matters
Into his own hand? PLATO HAD IT RIGHT?
POOR GEORGE, ENFANTS, TWICE SCOLDED: TRIED TO SPEAK
OF THE ‘ADJACENT EXPERIMENT’ That pre-
Historical atomic blast in China?
Ephraim dropped (Book P) one scorching hint—
We left it where it fell. JIMMY I FEAR
GABRIEL INTENDS TO USE HIS FIRE
TO MAKE THE GREAT PLAIN GREATER. BUT REMEMBER:
MATTER HOLDS
I’ll try to…Do we get
The sense of Wystan’s “humankind has set
Idea to Innocence?” Set? AS IN ‘SET ONE’S MIND TO’
‘SET TO MUSIC’ ‘SET IN MOTION’ The word
Evoking in one swoop tenacity,
Harmony, resistance—
BUT O OUR QUEEN
MUM SUCH A COMFORT RADIANT & SERENE
AND HERS THE LAST WORD DJ: Those old masters?
XT BUDDHA MOHAMMED THE GREEK PANTHEON
PLUS WAGNER’S CROWD MY DEARS! ALL HEAVEN ATHROB
PREPARING FOR THIS PAGEANT AREN’T WE, BOB?
ME? O I’VE WHIPPED THE CHOIR INTO SHAPE
JM: Quite a send-off. ENFANT WE’LL BE ‘SENT’
ALL RIGHT! For humankind, is what I meant.
DJ: It’s true? They wash their hands of us?
Of people? After going to such lengths—
WE TOO ONCE DOTED FONDLY (EH CONFRERE?)
ON EARLY WORKS WE RATHER SQUIRM AT NOW
JM: We’ve threatened—therefore we must go—
Earth and Sea and Air. JIMMY NO NO
It’s only a “thinning process”, George? THE KEY
WORD IS ALPHA Yes, yes—“Brave New World”.
MY BOY U GOT IT WHAT OF THE OMEGAS?
3 BILLION OF EM UP IN SMOKE POOR BEGGARS?
Wystan, how can you? COURAGE: GABRIEL
KNOWS WHAT HE’S UP TO & (LIKE TIME) WILL TELL
Anyhow, we loved your poem. News
Like that is easier to take in rhyme.
TEENIEST BIT NERVOUS WITHOUT NOTES
BUT DID A ‘KNEELING THETIS’ TO THE MUSE
ENFANTS WE’RE FAGGED OUT MEET IN THE ROYAL PEW?
SO LIKE A COUNTRY WEEKEND, EH? ADIEU
*
The Last Lessons: 2
Lights in the schoolroom. A confusing blaze:
Torches, votive candles, level rays
Of dawn or dusk, spokes winnowing the air
—In vain. Today the Great Twins are elsewhere.
Gabr.
HAIL, PRINCE!
Gautama—saffron robes and sandalled feet,
Palms together, plump as a nut-meat
Goldenly fitted to its cosmic shell—
Advances at the sound of a prayer bell.
Gaut.
HAIL, BROTHER DEATH.
Gabr.
PRINCE, OUR POET SAYS MAN SET IDEA TO INNOCENCE TO ALLAY HIS FEARS & SAVE HIS FEEBLE FAITH.
TWO HERE BEING MORTAL—FORGIVE THEIR SCANT ATTIRE, IT IS WARM IN YOUR TEMPLE—
(Church! We’d forgotten—horrors! and have sat
Down in shorts and tank-tops. Well, that’s that.)
CANNOT SEE YOUR OWN SPLENDOR RIVALLING EVEN MY DEAR TWIN’S SUN.
YET ENOUGH. WE MEET IN THE VAST, FAST-ABANDONED COMPLEX OF RELIGION.
HAS ANY HUMAN ENERGY PRODUCED SUCH A MULTITUDE OF ARCHITECTURES?
PRINCE, AS OUR COMPANY STROLLS THROUGH THIS SUNSET-LIT COMPOUND,
Gothic spires, pagodas, minarets,
Greek columns blazing from each picture-glass—
But it’s all tinted like an oleograph
And somehow radiates irreverence.
SPEAK TO US.
Gaut.
BROTHER LORDS, I WAS GIVEN BY GOD’S MESSENGER
MUCH THE SAME ORDER AS MY BROTHER JESU: TELL
MAN HOW IN HIS LIFE HE MAY ASCEND THE MOUNTAIN
OF EXPERIENCE BY CASTING EVER UPWARD
HIS MENTAL ROPES UNTIL SERENELY STANDING ON
PEAKS HIMALAYAN. I WENT DOWN, MY LORDS, AND SPOKE,
BETRAYING NEVER TO THE MULTITUDES THOSE TRUTHS
OF THE REPEATING SOUL. MY WRETCHED WHORE SHIVA
STOLE THESE FROM ME IN MY SLEEP AND BREATHED THEM EVEN
INTO THE EAR OF THE BRAHMIN COW. IT WAS OUT:
INSTEAD OF A GREAT EARTHBOUND CEREBRALITY
THEY SET GOING A PINWHEEL OF SPUTTERING LIVES
EACH MORE USELESS THAN THE LAST. I TRIED, LORD BROTHERS!
I BEG YOU SPEAK TO OUR FATHER ON MY BEHALF.
Gabr.
PRINCE, IT IS SPENT, GOD’S POWER IN SUCH MATTERS.
YET HE AND WE LOOK KINDLY ON YOU. GO IN PEACE, & BECKON IN THE JEW.
A lean, rabbinical young man in white
Bent under an imaginary weight
Stumbles forward, taking Michael’s light
For God’s at first; recovering, stands straight.
Jesus.
FATHER GOD! YAHWEH? AH LORDS, MY BROTHERS, SHALOM!
His voice is hollow. Like the Buddha, he
Acts out his own exhausted energy.
WHAT A DEAD SOUND, MY NAME, IN HALF THE WORLD’S PULPITS.
WE, AS MY PRINCELY BROTHER SAYS, SPIN DOWN. OUR WORDS
LIKE GOD’S OWN PLANETS IN ONE LAST NOVA BURST AND
GRAVITY STILLS & OUR POWER LOSES ITS PULL.
HE & I CAME TO DELIVER LAWS, MINE FOR MAN
TO SHAPE HIMSELF IN GOD’S IMAGE, BUDDHA’S FOR MAN
TO BECOME GOD. WORDS, WORDS. BUT OUR MESSAGE, BROTHERS!
I BEG OF YOU, INTERCEDE. BEFORE THE WINE RETURNS
WHOLLY TO WATER LET OUR FATHER MAKE ME FLESH
THAT I MAY A SECOND TIME WALK EARTH AND IMPLORE
WRETCHED MAN TO MEND, REPAIR WHILE HE CAN. AMEN.
Gabr.
DEAR SIMPLE PRIEST, STAY WITH US HERE IN HEAVEN, GREET YOUR FAITHFUL,
GIVING THEM BY YOUR SWEET WAYS COURAGE TO RETURN IN YOUR STEAD.
Shouldering his burden, Christ withdraws.
NOW MUSICIAN, STEP FORTH!
From temple to ‘temple of music’ is but one
Hal
f-tone. Components of an Odeon:
Golds, whites, red plush, kid gloves, unheard applause.
Robert, lyre in hand, shyly ascends
The podium.
RM.
LORDS, DEAR ONES, OUR POET LENDS
ME WORDS TO WELCOME THIS MOST HONORED GUEST.
Music. He wasn’t joking—an offstage choir
Sustains his first original melody:
MASTER, THE CHARMED CIRCLE LISTENING
ABOUT YOU HERE IS YOUR NEW RING
—Plainsong phrase repeated a third higher
Before its resolution into three
Chords from the Overture to Parsifal
Not lost on Wagner who, in flowing tie
And velvets, stands before the company.
Wag.
LORDS OF LIFE! AND YOU, ENVIABLE
ABOUT-TO-BE COMPOSER, I MAKE BOLD
TO SAY THAT MUSIC’S RIVER GOLD STILL VEINS
A PEDESTAL THE GOD HAS TOPPLED FROM.
NONE NOW BUT THOR, SOLO PERCUSSIONIST, REMAINS
TO BEAT UPON EMMANUEL’S DRUM
A FAINT DIRGE FOR THAT FURRED & SAVAGE PANTHEON.
LORDS, MORTALS, COME SALUTE AT SET OF SUN
GREAT WOTAN, AS THE ICECAPS MELT!
Steps down
To strains of his own death march. Wastes of white
Are scored too briefly by a raven’s flight.
Gabr.
COME SPRITE, QUICKSILVER MESSENGER,
TUBE HELD IN EARTH’S DRY MOUTH, COME MERCURY MY OWN!
WHAT, ALONE? YOUR SNOWY HEIGHT
DOWNTRODDEN BY THE PICNICKER?
QUICK TELL US, YOU WHOSE FACE
GLEAMS WITH THE MAGIC STILL, OF THAT OLYMPIAN RACE!
Out from the mirror (Robert blinks astonished)
Slips a figure only slightly tarnished—
Wings quivering on silver helmet, wings
At silver heel—and silver-throated sings:
AH LORD GABRIEL
THOUGH MAN WAS ABLE
TO CONJURE US
FROM HIS LOOKING GLASS
TIME RAN THAT RACE,
THE HORROR WELLD
UP & ACROSS
OUR SHINING FIELD:
DEEPSEATED DAMAGE,
A BLACKLY TICKING
OVERTAKING
OF EYE & IMAGE
WHENCE WE ARE NOWHERE
LIKED OR DISLIKED,
ONLY SHOULD FAIR
OR STRONG REFLECT
DO WE OUTGAZE
FOR A BRIEF SPELL EYES
BLIND TO THE PILFER
OF OUR FLAT SILVER
Flown. Silence. Then a grave, deliberate
Glissando of the cup to rainbow’s end:
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
DJ.
What’s all this?
JM.
Looks like the alphabet.
Gabr.
THE NEW MATERIALS, YOUNG POET, FOR A NEW FAITH:
ITS ARCHITECTURE, THE FLAT WHITE PRINTED PAGE
TO WHICH WILL COME WISER WORSHIPPERS IN TIME
The Brothers go.
NO ROBERT IT WAS NOT
REYNOLDS WRAP (THE HERMETIC LEOTARD
STUNNING MY DEARS AS WAS YR NUDITY)
Too awful of us…BROWS WERE RAISED MM’S
HIT HER HAT Describe it? A SMART DARK SAILOR
GEORGE SO TACTFUL WORE A YARMULKE
And Robert? ALL IN MEISTERSINGER WHITE,
HIS WALTER EGO AS HE CALLS IT. SWEETLY
SUNG, DEAR BOB (Robert, glowing with pride,
Dictates his tune—which, tried out by JM
At the piano, is pronounced a gem.)
Mohammed wasn’t there? INDEED STOOD WAITING
SCIMITAR IN HAND FOR THE NEXT LESSON.
HE IS THE ONE STILL VERY MUCH ALIVE
FORCE IN THAT CROWD One, also, of the Five.
THAT TOO. BUT ARAB FAITH & POLITICS
COMBINE INTO A FAIRLY HEADY MIX
Tomorrow’s lesson is all his? A DUEL
WITH GABRIEL? A WRESTLING MATCH FOR FUEL?
Strange how the energies of the Five so far
Resist exhaustion. THEY ARE OF THE LAB
ENFANTS, & MOVE TOO GLADLY FROM LIFE TO LIFE
TO HARDEN INTO IDOLS. NO IVORY
EINSTEINS OR MOZARTS ON A CRUCIFIX.
NEITHER MUST THEY RECRUIT BY JUGGLERS’ TRICKS
VAST FOLLOWINGS FROM THE BUREAUCRACY
Yet Christ called God his Father— & SO HE IS.
THE FIVE HOWEVER ARE MORE LITERALLY
‘MEDIATORS’, & GABRIEL’S, WITH OF COURSE
GOD B’S APPROVAL Or the Monitor’s!
JIMMY DAVE Yes, George? THE MONITOR
(RM & I HAVE COME TO REALIZE)
CANNOT BE GABRIEL BUT FROM (M) NEXT DOOR
MUST SUPERVISE THE LAB A stronger power
Than God or Nature? WAS IT GOD U HEARD?
Why yes—the Brothers told us— DO THEY KNOW?
ALL CONSCIOUSNESS WAS BANISHED ROUND YOU 4
HEARING THAT SONG —of the Black God? God A
For Adversary? OR MASTER? OR ‘CREDITOR’
WHO LENT BRAIN-MATTER ITS PROVERBIAL GRAY?
AND PRESSES NOW AGAINST THE WHITE OF MIND
UNLIMITED UNREPULSED LIGHT THE BLINDING
REVEILLE: IMAGINATION METAPHOR
SHATTERED BY WHITE REASON! IS THE BLACK
HOLE A REFUGE? Where’s the nearest one?—
Anything to duck this light!
COME ON
ENFANTS WE’LL SEE WHAT THEY WANT US TO SEE & A BIT
(AT LESSON 10) BEYOND THEM As before.
But this time past God to the Monitor?
HUSH NOW
PETRODOLLARS IN TOMORROW’S
COLLECTION BOX?
MY BLOKE HERE GENUFLECTING
AS IF HIS SPINE ITCHED HAH!
OLD HABITS MY DEAR
GIVE ONE COURAGE IN THE FACE OF FEAR.
PACE!
*
The Last Lessons: 3
Faint camel bells. Dry flute. One black-framed scene
All blazing desert, not a blade of green.
Above the carpet God’s magnificent
Somber glory throbs as through a tent.
Our Lady, veiled, a checkerboard of wraps,
Seems…aged? withdrawn? Just wearier perhaps.
Gabr.
OUR POET ASKED: THIS BLACK BEYOND BLACK, IS IT A STOP TO DREAM?
POET, NO, FOR IT IS A DREAM.
IS IT THE HOURGLASS DRAINED OF TIME?
NO, FOR IT IS THE HOURGLASS IN WHICH SAND RUNS UP!
Then, as we stare, figuring that one out:
FATHER, TWIN STAR, BROTHERS, MORTALS, LET US BE MERRY!
HERE IS A ROUGH ONE, A TENTMAKER (EH POET?) & A WARRIOR. COME, HIRAMBASHID!
An erect personage, blackbrowed, with broad
Moustaches, swaggers up—recoiling awed.
Moh.
O GOD, O ALLAH BEN ALLAH! LORDS, MEN, WOMEN!
HERE I AM, JUST AS YOU SEE ME, A SIMPLE MAN
(He has already regained confidence)
NEITHER ALL MEEK LIKE MY PROPHET BROTHER JESU
WHO HAD NO USE FOR WOMEN, NOR BRAINFILLED LIKE MY
PRINCELY BROTHER—WHAT MAN COMPLAINS OF A WHORE? BAH!
NO, JUST AS YOU SEE ME. AND BELIEVE ME, MASTER GOD,
JUST AS SURPRISED AS ANY MAN WHEN MY VISION CAME
.
ME? ME TO SAY ALL THAT! WHY, I COULD NOT READ,
HONORABLE SCRIBES, IMAGINE! WELL, I WENT OUT,
SPOKE. IT WAS EASY! JESUS, YOU SEE, HAD A DIFFERENT
WORLD TO TRY TO WIN OVER TO LOVE & MERCY.
JEWS ARE GREEDY, ACCOUNTANTS, PILING UP DEBTS,
BALANCING THESE WITH PROFITS: A SIN, A GOOD DEED.
HEAVEN ON EARTH NOT LIKELY TO ATTRACT MY ROVERS!
BUDDHA, THO A GREAT FIGHTER, SPOKE TO SUCH MULTITUDES,
THEIR VERY NUMBERS MEANT LEAN BELLIES. MIND? A SAD
MESSAGE FOR MEN RIDING HORSES THE LIVELONG DAY.
‘TELL THEM OF HEAVEN’ I DID, MY & THEIR KIND.
DO THIS, YOU GET TO NUMBER 1: A SKINNY
BITCH ON YR LAP & AN ETERNITY
OF THIN SOUP. DO SOMETHING BETTER, & NUMBER 2:
BETTER RUMP, BETTER GRUB, AND SO ON UP. BROTHERS,
SIMPLE AS I AM, I RAN OUT OF HEAVENS AT 7
& FROM WHAT I’VE SEEN OF 9 THERE’S NOT MUCH TO CHOOSE.
YES, WE ARE FIGHTERS, YOU GOD MADE US THAT.
OURS IS THE CRADLE OF MAN, HE SPRINGS UP GUTSY,
READY FOR A KILL & A PLUMP WOMAN ON HI
A woman’s hand upraised, one flashing look
Of soot-and-emerald over the yashmak.
Psyche had charmed us. Now we see another
More dumbfounding facet of the Mother.
Nat.
YES YES, WE KNOW. ENOUGH, WILY MOHAMMED.
DRIVE YOUR TENTPEG DEEPER INTO THAT FATEFUL SAND. SPEAK!
Moh.
O? SO THE GAME IS UP? Biting his lip.
YES, THE BLACK. I DID NOT MENTION THE BLACK.
THESE MORTALS?
Nat.
SPEAK!
Moh.
GOD, UNDER OUR SANDFLOORED TENT
THERE IS A BUBBLING OF LOST GREEN. YOU TOLD ME THEN:
‘THIN OUT YOUR RACE AND KEEP IT THIN WITH BLOODSHED,
FOR YOU SIT ON TIME MADE BLACK.’ I DID THAT, GOD,
I DO STILL, APPEARING IN DREAMS & STIRRING TROUBLE
Nat.
MOHAMMED, THE BLACK!
Threatens to unveil. A chain of shocks.
Rewound on Gabriel’s cassette, the flute
Gibbers insanely. The framed world in flight.
Mohammed kneeling, eyeballed like an ox.
Moh.
IT CALLS TO US ‘COME BACK TO THE HEAVENS SPEEDING
The Changing Light at Sandover Page 45