from Blackwater Quartet, selection 90

Solitudes and Requirements


In the country you abandoned

a raw month remembers every year away.


The wind is a face you knew,

stretched and skewed now

daring you to answer.


You write your name over and over

rehearsing your life, the cries of distant birds

cold and constant, too far away to hear.

from Blackwater Quartet, selection 89

Meridian

There is a road to take,
a solution to the wilderness
independent of the weather, a destination
in the bell note spray
of Angelus from the tower.

Saints’ lives fired into the glass
dapple walls in scarlet,
light’s ladder from the dark.
The mind turns to see it,
to take part in what is seen.

The text swims through the sun,
across a pulpit carved in creatures
a stain of rainbow, on cold stone
and sherbet silks the Word,
the oak-jut commonplace Te Deum.

Before a star grows cold,
it swells across our puny registers,
at first a warmth on upturned faces,
then the fusion’s stalking
leopard livery and goodbye.

Life is improvised.
After days that are one day
with nights hanging either end untended,
even the grit of paradise assumes
a sweetness, a supple pulp of pear.

We name this hour burning dove,
predicting heaven through migration,
through the curvature of seasons
when flights return. Pink in expectation,
corpses rise and walk among us.

We address the slough of each life,
life enough to line in lead
and fetch with lacquered brass.
The wards are full of plans. The earth, too,
heaves with index and subscription.

We are waiting, bus queues and careers
the years pare down to elemental causes,
the enzyme zing, amino entourage
prodded into rose beds, hue
and perfume forged in ashy stacks.

The universe dismembers a billion stars,
still light leaks outwards first and last.
The sun’s instructions to the leaf
extend the shade at noon.
This is the sound of our next breath.

These stones were dressed by artisans,
the edges squared to lost seams
balancing the split-tree buttress.
In the font, the spill of ghosts is raised
from springs, a fill of ancient weather.

The medicine grain of faces opens
in the damp, alcoves suited to disciples
and a sculpted peace. The earth is seeded
with compass points, the maps made ready,
and our sense of setting-out restored.

There is no will without regret, no cushion
without compromise, each decorous moment
sheared for découpage.
The world knows wood and iron.
The world instructs itself in pain.

We are without distance
until we ask, how far. The meanness
of bone is with us, and the apparatus
of machines that scours the heart.
We name this hour burning dove.

Walking in this dusk
that is neither the failed light of the sun
nor the moon’s intention at the full,
we recognise the earth,
its stubbornness of curve and axis.

From the eaves of the apostles, bat shapes
flit and tumble soft as willow catkins.
Membrane wings manoeuvre to the spark
of fire flies, the pinprick diamond echoes
returning through the dark.

from Blackwater Quartet, selection 88

after Rainer Maria Rilke
from Sonnets to Orpheus
(Die Sonette an Orpheus, 1922)

I.i

From silence, from hidden forms of silence,
from signs transcendent root and branch, begin
with Orpheus, his rising notes and sense
of generation waking worlds within.

The wilderness responds. The secret heart
of every species opens, mended, rubric
time exalted in the spell of music,
distinct, a hostage to this sudden art.

A place is found, a dwelling, a refuge
constructed from the stillness. In each beam
and vaulted arch, each plane, song’s symmetry

insinuates a proved geometry,
a cunning, squared against the roaring dream.
Such calculations drive the centrifuge.

I.iii

A God makes his own luck. Compared to man’s
inconsequential stars, Apollo’s shine
more luminous with chance, and so define
the rituals in praise of circumstance.

Your break-glass notes assemble time, and woo
the constellations of a rarer sky
to decorate our lost horizons. Why
ape the gods? Your lyre marks heaven’s blue

more deeply. Forget technique. Forget this
subsequent perfection. Its atlas sweep
encompasses a sameness, hit or miss.

In the soft breeze, a God stirs sleepily.
The promises you made you meant to keep,
this meditation— first a breath, then free.

I.vii

Your voice is perfect praise, the purest ore
that jewels the sediments, a freighted zone
of tributary brightness at the core
of planet, ruby vine and semitone.

You celebrate the poorest soil, the scree
seams marbled with still drier habitats.
Lost towns, those lives now archaeology
or less— your lightning spines the ziggurats.

In your song, windows open to the wide
mosaics, plazas peopled where the bride
leads out her silk and saffron retinue.

In your song, catchlight intimations pool.
The stoke of emeralds resumes, death’s rule
dissolved, a gemstone crush, a spoken blue.

I.ix

The dead are listening. The lyre’s note halts
their world, its orbit
cold around a colder sun, the chill vaults
prised, urgent with it.

We have no mouths, and yet the dead speak through
us— poppy-bled dreams,
percussive iridescence— all we knew
skimming the extremes.

The lake, silvered with a silver sky,
rises as it falls.
Water mirrors pain.

The earth we remembered, its weather sly
with beginnings, crawls
out to meet the rain.

I.xix

Cloudscapes run to storms.
Your voice weaves moments
from emergent forms’
flux and consequence.

You made this thunder,
quarter-moon dance, knit
of horses tides spur
across the sand-spit.

The sky invented
here includes a key,
a door, a shared space

the winds indented.
Here, identity
is nothing. Clouds race.

I.xxiii

This place is binding blue
and breathless— atmosphere
of angels, the strewn, tear-
drop globe beneath you.

Heaven sails with crow
caw, filigree clouds’ edge
and intonations. No
wing beat breaks this pledge.

Where you rise, dawn rises.
Your life burns away
in the high, clear light

past compromises
first and last, the day
holding the sought height.

II.xii

You too shall be changed. Within the fulcrum
tilt of transformation an energy
resides, a recognition— the tattoo’s drum
hide sounded for each spirit, unearthly.

No voice or sign predates this pilgrimage.
Its pace sets earth and stars in motion, yet
a cricket’s song is larger, a mirage,
a rising vapour the winds interpret.

The tide runs with you. The ocean bears you
to extinction. Your nicknamed hour returns
to hours beyond your birth and death again.

A bloodline scatters in a breath, a true
inheritance each withered will discerns—
our faces raised, astonished by the rain.

from Blackwater Quartet, selection 87

The Battle of Maldon
Anonymous

Anno 991. In this year came Anlaf with ninety-three ships to
Folkestone, and harried outside, and sailed thence to Sandwich,
and thence to Ipswich, overrunning the countryside, and so on to
Maldon. (On 10 August) Ealdorman Byrhtnoth came to meet them
with his levies and fought them…
                                — from The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (Parker)

At his will the company dismounted
drove horses back the way forward
cleared of second thoughts now shield-skills
war temper met steady looks

All this the kinsman saw the retainer
Eadric the duty their lord expected
so went his pet hawk standing cloudward
stooped to woods beyond The boy
looked once stepped then to blood business

Sword-strife kindles clans the weak grip
marking shirkers Eadric’s held
the ash grain iron-tipped no slack
and the vows made good a boast
the Earldoman saw and trusted should shield planks
buckle under blows if then the fight

The lord Byrhtnoth focused hearts
the many shields made one
with his counsel The battle folk
trimmed tactics took courage
in their neighbour stood ready

The Earl rode by knew the day
and its requirements The shield’s boss shone
the shield face leather ancestors knew
so too this guard and Byrhtnoth walked
the company his hearth companions

Then to shore a raider bold
words to the household such menace
made message throat-threats all knew
told the loud errand those pirates’ pledge

These wave-treaders whose reach
is the sea’s reach order my word
make ransom rings tribute gold
and peace will hold Your treasure is truce
make it so Take these terms
and your chief consider coin of your kind
avoid blood-blows spear-rain

Our law is slaughter but consider
fair currency for your lives
and we to the next tide our ship
to the sea’s will with this exchange

Byrhtnoth raised circle shield
his ash spear shook both
in anger past the middle ground

Brigand witness I speak
for this folk their halls sound
as one voice against you
our tribute here the long lance
war gear’s brandished edges

Here is profit poison pays

Rogue’s herald discover this resolve

Return word this war band binds bravely
this realm of Aethelred our king

Here heathens earn blood dues

This is our way that no English riches
pass easy to your hold our terms
in war-trial first then let survivors say

On the Earl’s sign the clan raised shields
took stations on the fl ats a tide between
shield line and pirates pressing
to edge-water all waiting
tide-turn of the river Blackwater
pacing each no man lost
except the arrow’s reach Sea-scavengers
and Essex spears both the shafts found

Away from this bow-sprint
death the houses held Blade pommel
banging shield Vikings eager
for blood match clamoured
for sea shift and to war

The northman first to the bridge
fell before Wulfstan Ceola’s son
who stood to the Earl’s orders
at the causeway fearless
in that family he knew hard combat
flung spear of Frankish oak
that met the crowding braggart

With Wulfstan two swordsmen
Aelfhere and Maccus shoulders
steadfast at the ford taught
the sea wolves the crossing’s cost
the land spit a blade’s width
staunchly held to weapon-rules

The seamen stood by saw
firm skills against them brooded briefly
on their slain 

The bridge guards wary heard cunning pleas
a subterfuge crafted
soldier to soldier to fairly stand
infantry across the bloody strand

Byrhtnoth saw terms
in that higher ground but not sand
shifting and called them on
advance to this shore a clearing
through the marsh and hasten
killing that proves the field

With that the tide was breached

To the west bank they came
the fleet’s men murder-minded
a fist of swords and linden shields
and Byrhtnoth waiting there
called round the kin to set
the battle-hedge against the strangers
and be resolute in glory
for all are fated and the day would tell

A cold cry in the air blood-wrung
war noise and cries of ravens circling
falling file-hard spears
found the ranks split shield-staves

Bows quickened arrow-arc bit
the war-rush and fighters sank
corpses in cold shoals

The Earl’s own nephew fell
where butchers hacked and gutted
but the prince’s chamberlain Edward
taught Vikings death fealty

His blade halved a war-wolf
where he stood and Bryhtnoth
and the kinsmen gave thanks
when breath allowed eager
the thane’s industry be told

The clan line held as Byrhtnoth
made purpose of their will
and each resolved wearð
in stone fastness air-shock
javelins sailed slaying
Danes and the Earl’s word
kept faith with the house
believing the hero’s way

Than a challenger advanced
and Bryhtnoth strapped
sword-harness met the man
harm-bringer each intent

The raider’s quick spear rang
against the shield the Prince’s stance
served and the shaft burst

The Earl let prowess service rage
and sank his lance and turned it
through the neck so fell fate’s man
to the Earl’s next blow that rent
chain mail and the dog’s heart

The Earl laughed his own wounds
less in that exchange
and spoke bravely the day’s work
the Lord’s will and weapons’
true path blood-waders
giving mood to the company
thankful for their Prince’s life
and the war-test all pursued

Then a sea-soldier seasoned in harm
hurled his spear caught
fully Aethelred’s retainer
the deep dart sudden true

Close by the Earl the boy
Wulfmaer Wulfstan’s son
seized the moment and from the Prince
removed the lance black
with burst arteries returned it hard
skewered its skulking keeper

But another in armour and bold
with the Prince’s wounds moved
to strip the Earl’s war-harness his rings
and jewel-worked sword Byrhtnoth
drew the broad bright blade made to maul mail-coat

Another Dane rushed on sliced
through muscle strings loosed the arm

The forged razor fell gold hilt
among grasses the Earl too weak
to wield Still he rallied hearth-kin
told them glory was a weather
never waiting and so advance

Grey beard blood-caked he sank
as life leaked out his gaze skyward
I look to my condition Lord
grateful for feast and time in the world’s ways
Bringer of Fates now I ask
such ease for my ghost
as your will allows soul’s journey
safe in your salvation
your peace unmeasured
far from hell fiends

Then heathen swordsmen closed
killed and Wulfmaer
and Aelfnoth close by defending
kept close in death the three together

Fear found the others the field
quit first by Odda’s sons
Godric turned his loyalty
in Byrhtnoth’s gifts
of stallions pretty bloodstock
reining round the Earl’s own mount
clung upstart its trappings away

With him Godwin and Godwig
his noble brothers recovering their horses
wheeled from the fight craving deep woods
beyond the slaughter-pen

And more fled than can be faced
in this report who made stand
at council that same dawn and took
the gifts the Earl gave freely broad estates
and bright weapons and swore
blood to Aethelred’s liege-man
and kinsmen cold now

But others held sought
the shield line the day
for choices death or vengeance
for their hearth-chief all
the company there eager
in war-pledge for this reckoning

And among them there Aelfwin
Aelfric’s son ox-prime bold
recalled where courage lay

In halls deep in feast
we raised hard boasts of hero-work
war ways the henchman’s path

Now the craw sticks we stay and stand
From Mercia the ancient house
of Ealhhelm my ancestor
I came and could return without slight
to wealth kindred ranks
from causes others lost
now Byrhtnoth’s fallen
at this fyrde its bloodied grasses
Yet grief is here my slain lord
no less my lord and kinsman now

Then he found the hot feud
and took his target square
where pirates pressed his spear
pitched the Dane heart-split

Offa joined in his high office
second only to the Earl
Aelfwin we commend you
In your words this war allegiance
binds and betters and none
more needful of it
now our folk’s defender’s lost
This spear grip proves our cause
this forge-child edged for Danes

Too many thought the coward Godric
marked the Earl’s own flight
where chance allowed escape
The army saw let shield wall fail
divided in that treachery

Then another Leofsunu
shoulder to shield stave
gave patriot vows that there
was fate fixed and there
he’d hold to killing
and revenge while life held
This estuary’s war-kin
my lord remembered
with his gifts and much the hall heard
of future deeds I fight now oak-rooted
a brother iron-point in service

And Dunnere a farmhand
in the ranks shook plain lance
and took his place in battle-fold
spoke shoreward to the company

For Byrhtnoth our blood and purpose

And ferocious to Vikings
they took brutal war
each to his duty
steel-clash shaking air

Among them the Northumbian
Ashferth the warrior Edgeleave’s son
Byrhtnoth’s treaty hostage
sent bow-darts steady
into heathen shield and Dane
as life held so the clan saw
his loyal reaping

There too Eadweard se langa
cut through linden boards
and Vikings knew his long reach
without quarter deadly
in their midst his oath kept
to cut and kill for his lord’s life
until seafarers swarmed felling

And Aetheric’s noble bearing
was glimpsed in blood-spree
Sigebyrht’s brother and many others
waded cutting to curved shields

Shield rims burst and blades
to body armour sang hell-songs

In red combat a sea-soldier
Offa faced slumped dead to earth
before Offa too was hewn remembering
to his ring-giver his sworn word
that together to their settlements
fate would see them home
or else by wound-waste
on pitch of corpses the day turn

Now near the Earl in faith he lay

At Offa’s last breath shield wall
shattered under Danes’ war-rage

Spear sought soul-house and Wistan
Thurstan’s son sprang to sea-wolf thicket
served sword to three before lastly
in those numbers lost to slayers