I will ask bristling centaury to translate

XIV

The fell, through brimming heat-haze, ashen gray,
in a few hours changes to graphite, coral,
rare Libyan sand color or banded spectrum.
Distant flocks merge into limestone’s half-light.
The full moon, now, rears with unhastening speed,
sketches the black ridge-end, slides thin luster
downward aslant its gouged and watered scree.
Awe is not peace, not one of the sacred
duties in meditation. Memory
finds substance in itself. Whatever’s brought,
one to the other, masking and unmasking,
by each particular shift of clarity
wrought and obscurely broken-in upon,
of serene witness, neither mine nor yours,
I will ask bristling centaury to translate.
Saved by immersion, sleep, forgetfulness,
the tinctured willow and frail-textured ash,
untrodden fern-sheaves, a raw-horned oak,
the wavering argents in the darkened river.
Later again, far higher on the fell,
a solitary lamp, notturna lampa,
night’s focus focusing, LEOPARDI saw,
himself a stranger, once, returning late,
from some forsaken village festival.

Geoffrey Hill, The Orchards of Syon

bodies

I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is good. But in fact it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. So I find it to be a law that when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?
Romans 7:15-24

to live

The world is filled with music, and in between the music, silence
And varying the silence all sorts of sounds, natural and man made:
There goes a plane, some cars, geese that honk and, not here, but
Not so far away, a scream so rending that to hear it is to be
Never again the same. “Why, this is hell.” Out of the death breeding
Soil, here, rise emblems of innocence, snowdrops that struggle
Easily into life and hang their white enamel heads toward the dirt
And in the yellow grass are small wild crocuses from hills goats
Have cropped to barrenness. The corms come by mail, are planted.
Then do their thing: to live! To live! So natural and so hard
Hard as it seems it must be for green spears to pierce the all but
Frozen mold and insist that they too, like mouse-eared chickweed,
Will live. The spears lengthen, the bud appears and spreads, its
Seed capsule fattens and falls, the green turns yellowish and withers
Stretched upon the ground. In Washington, magnolias were in bud. In
Charlottesville early bulbs were up, brightening the muck. Tomorrow
Will begin another spring. No one gets many, one at a time, like a long
Awaited letter that one day comes. But it may not say what you hoped
Or distraction robs it of what it once would have meant. Spring comes
And the winter weather, here, may hold.

James Schuyler, "Hymn to Life"

are you still with us?

from IX

Penumbrate, a lily
distinctly shines, talisman
to that which is key-cold in me, and sealed.
Could be haemony, from some remote
and gracious fable, upholding the rod
or stem of sharp judgement, finally spared.
Are you still with us, spirit of difficult
forgiveness if I may so term you? The man
is old; it is more than age he girns for.
And I said: is there anything you think
you should tell me? Was there mirror
and did it breathe cold speculation?
He is knackered and there are no
schemes to revive him. The year unlocks,
hunkers, swings, its anniversary-round.

Geoffrey Hill, The Orchards of Syon

faith

While we were staying there for several days, a prophet named Agabus came down from Judea. He came to us and took Paul's belt, bound his own feet and hands with it, and said, "Thus says the Holy Spirit, 'This is the way the Jews in Jerusalem will bind the man who owns this belt and will hand him over to the Gentiles.'" When we heard this, we and the people there urged him not to go up to Jerusalem. Then Paul answered, "What are you doing, weeping and breaking my heart? For I am ready not only to be bound but even to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus." Since he would not be persuaded, we remained silent except to say, "The Lord's will be done." After these days we got ready and started to go up to Jerusalem.
Acts 21:10-15

the shipwrecks of heaven

The shipwrecks of heaven sail on —
masts
sung earthward.

You sink your teeth
into this wooden
song —

You are — the song-lashed
colors.

Paul Celan, Atemwende

the shapes of death

A Lazar-house it seemd, wherein were laid
Numbers of all diseas'd, all maladies
Of ghastly Spasm, or racking torture, qualmes
Of heart-sick Agonie, all feavorous kinds,
Convulsions, Epilepsies, fierce Catarrhs,
Intestin Stone and Ulcer, Colic pangs,
Daemonic Phrenzie, moaping Melancholie
And Moon-struck madness, pining Atrophie,
Marasmus, and wide-wasting Pestilence,
Dropsies, and Asthma's, and Joint-racking Rheums.

Paradise Lost, 11.480-489

This is old age; but then thou must outlive
Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change
To witherd weak and gray; thy Senses then
Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forgoe,
To what thou hast, and for the Aire of youth
Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reigne
A melancholly damp of cold and dry
To weigh thy Spirits down, and last consume
The Balme of Life.

11.538-546

the desperate man

That Man is Poor and Desolate whose Lov
None seeks, no man sollicits, none Doth move,
Whose Brightest Splendors in the Dark do lie
And all his Great affections are thrown by.
Rust covers his Resplendent fancy, Dust
Soyls all his Powers, & his Lov doth rust.
His Wit’s unseen, his Wisdom none admires,
His Souls unsought, his favor none desires.
None vallues his esteem, his sacred tears
No ey doth pitty, Fury no man fears.
His Passions are hung o’er with Cobwebs, and
His greatest virtues idle in Him stand.
His Courage no where is imployd his zeal
No Beauty doth to any Ey reveal.
His Excellencies in a Silent Cave
Are hid; his very Body is his grave.
His faculties are Empty, all his powers
Are Solitary, Withered, Blasted Bowers.
His Wide & great capacity is laid
Aside, his precept is by none Obeyd.
His very Worth’s neglected & Despised,
His very Riches are themselves not prizd.
He is the poor, forlorn and needy man,
That see, do, Prize, Enjoy, Admire at Nothing can;
Whose Goodness cant itself comunicat,
Nor Avarice Enjoy anothers State.
Whose Violent & Endless Lov’s displeased,
Whose Great Ambition is by no man Easd.
Who no Dominion hath, Whom no Mans Ey
Doth Prize, Exalt, Rejoyce in, Magnifie.
Who reigns not always in anothers soul,
Whose Highness nothing can at all Controul.
Who cannot pleas far more the Worlds! & be
A Bliss to others like the Deitie.

Thomas Traherne, "The Desolateness of Absence"

the mad king

LEAR.
She came like the rest! And she'll listen like the rest! I didn't go out of my way to make trouble. But I will not be quiet when people come here. And if you stop them--that would be easy!--they'll know I'm here or was here once! I've suffered so much, I made all the mistakes in the world and I pay for each of them. I cannot be forgiven. I am in their minds. To kill me you must kill them all. Yes, that's who I am. Listen, Cordelia. You have two enemies, lies and truth. You sacrifice truth to destroy lies, and you sacrifice life to destroy death. It isn't sane. You squeeze a stone till your hand bleeds and call that a miracle. I'm old, but I'm as weak and clumsy as a child, too heavy for my legs. But I've learned this, and you must learn it or you'll die. Listen, Cordelia. If a god has made the wold, might would always be right, that would be so wise, we'd be spared so much suffering. But we made the world--out of our smallness and weakness. Our lives are awkward and fragile and we have only one thing to keep us sane: pity, and the man without pity is mad.

The GHOST starts to cry as CORDELIA speaks.

CORDELIA
You only understand self-pity. We must go back, the government's waiting. There are things you haven't been told. We have other opponents, more ruthless than you. In this situation a good government acts strongly. I knew you wouldn't co-operate, but I wanted to come and tell you this before we put you on trial: we'll make the society you only dream of.

LEAR
It's strange that you should have me killed, Cordelia, but it's obvious you would. How simple! Your law always does more harm than crime, and your morality is a form of violence.

CORDELIA (to CARPENTER)
The sooner it's finished now the better. Call a cabinet in the morning.

GHOST
Why didn't you tell her I was here? She wanted to talk about me. She couldn't forget about me. I made love to her in that house night after night, and on this grass. Look at me now! I've turned into this--I can't even touch her!

LEAR
Where are you going?

GHOST
I can watch her go.

Edward Bond, "Lear"

judgement

To gratifie my scornful Enemies,
That laugh, as if transported with some fit
Of Passion, I to them had quitted all,
At random yielded up to their misrule;
And know not that I call'd and drew them thither
My Hell-hounds, to lick up the draff and filth
Which mans polluting Sin with taint hath shed
On what was pure, till cramm'd and gorg'd, nigh burst
With suckt and glutted offal, at one sling
Of thy victorious Arm, well-pleasing Son,
Both Sin, and Death, and yawning Grave at last
Through Chaos hurld, obstruct the mouth of Hell
For ever, and seal up his ravenous Jawes.

Paradise Lost, 10.625-637