“You will find no comfort here,
In the kingdom of bang and blab.”
– Theodore Roethke, The Flight
In the kingdom of bang and blab,
my dreams decay into half-remembered nightmares
the waking fear and fear of waking.
I saw a three legged dog in the road today:
theodicy with a severed limb.
A hadeda with ragged feathers
shambles into a heavy sky.
I love and hate this strange and brutal place,
it’s smudged kentridge landscapes, ghosts and erased lives.
Angels shuffle on filthy streets
Art deco buildings decay like so many dreams,
and children peer through hopeless windows
I am a stranger, an interloper, a witness
I trace my life with splintered charcoal and a blackened finger.
This same dog-day (would you believe!)
a pigeon with diseased eyes
flapped blind circles.
What was I to do?
I bought a gift box from the gift shop
thinking of gifts to the Infant
and placed the bird inside.
I’m a bad ‘good samaritan’ to be sure:
Rage is blind.
Rage as blind as a bird in a box
rage at the dull absence of God.
at the dull presence of man.
(What if God dwells not in heaven above, nor in self-righteous hearts below,
but in little boxes?
IN THE TEMPLE COURTYARD
there is a madman in the temple courtyard,
cradling wounded turtledoves
and weeping over soon-to-be sacrificed goats
(and here I think of half-eaten smileys under a bridge).
Why does a distant, invisible Hebrew god crave the smell of burnt flesh?
Perhaps God himself is bewildered and lost
his maps obscured by blood and
the smoke of too many sacrifices.
The angry prophet has upturned overthrown and kicked the tables and broken the cages of our lives and strewn our sullied coins on the floor and scattered all lovers-of-money (who will not easily pass through the eye of a needle)
I watched the Prophet from a doorway
as narrow as the eye of a needle
“I am a cage looking for a bird”
The cages are all open now,
the birds fly up
into a hot jerusalem sky.
The madman runs
to a green hill far away
without a city wall.