Four Poems in Time of War
1 Aftermaths of Conflict
At the purple moment of Lent
Peace is being made
In a forest near the broken border.
Small stay in the hellish assault
And Mankind’s huge disorder.
Blood has fed the snow of this
Vast country, battered as never before.
What is pushing the pulse of man
To dive, an ostrich, in the sand
Devoid of flight and merely squat;
The plash of tank, instead of talk?
Maybe this: that a golden ray
Illumines nations’ hearts today
We thought He made us not for this
Until we glimpsed His careful bliss.
2 Thaw
Only for so long will the nipped cold
Hold in place the benediction
of snow;
Already it slips from eaves, patchy in places ─ way to go!
Way to go, wayward world,
wrapped in war!
Purity of deep snow;
signal of new blessings
in store.
3 Names For Peace
Le Loriot entra dans la capitale de l’aube.
L’épée de son chant ferma le lit triste.
Tout à jamais prit fin. — RENĒ CHAR
With the very surge of Char’s spring
War came. As if two dark meanings
Were one. Early for the Oriole, voiced
High in heaven’s unseeming choir!
Inability of Word to soar! Speak hymn
To God — why bellicose roar? Where’s
Your guaranteed answer to prayer?
Other refugees already there!
*
Past shadows swinge present realities,
Awake Ancient of Days. I scribe these dull words.
We were created for thy Peace. To sing Thy mystery!
4 Gate House
It feels strange, now
At the Gate House, in the snow.
No music will percolate
In that quiet light, as long ago,
Pure, to hissing lamb, wine and fire
Beethoven hymned the coming repast,
Joy suffused our efforts entire.
It feels strange, now
At the Gate House, Devon sentry.
Empty long ago. Gate House,
Gate House, in the snow.