Necessary noise ... part 1

Will by Christopher Rush

A richly rewarding read; heavy going at times, crammed with detail. The early descriptions of Roman Catholics burning at stakes are truly shocking.

Funnily enough (don't know why I see this as odd) my favourite passage is the epilogue, which begins:

"It's not the fashion, I know, to have the Ghost speak the epilogue, but being now freed from all temporal restraints, I am well placed to do so. And what better voice than the unfettered soul of the subject of this story? No more muddy vesture of decay, my masters. I can speak directly to you all - whenever, wherever and whoever you may be."

There then follows 15 pages of brilliance.

Will is published by Beautiful Books

A sharp-edged paring knife

Left alone
with too much time on your hands
you cannot help yourself

but stumble
over one
or maybe more than one

of those rare moments
of piercing clarity
in which you see

perhaps
the
truth

and there before you
lies still
the carcase

of what might have been;
eviscerated,
filleted

using a sharp-edged paring
knife,
serrated for its ease of entry

and escape
but leaving
an open wound,

inevitable,
unavoidable
despite the best intention

of the cosmic surgeon
whose skill and scalpel
were insufficient for the task

so that there
before you
on a polished kitchen floor

love lies bleeding
where once upon a time
in that land

far, far away
you watched a young woman,
her long brown hair

tumbling
over a blood red dress,
bathed in bronze and copper tones

of Autumn’s sunset
fading,
slice a lemon.

Don't think Douglas. Dance like the nineteen year old you were.

Flow

Love
runs riot
through the soul,
exciting dreams and possibility,
fixing not
on idle fantasy
nor egotistic
misappropriation
of emotion’s truth,
love’s sacred source

but giving voice
to joy
uncontainable;
spilling
into many lives
with laughter
echoing
through time and space;
tumbling down
cascading life’s dramatic courses
seaward,

heading home;
forever
gaining depth
so that through love,
love's steady flow,
we share
what comes to pass
through love
that builds in power,
swells
by loving deeply

so that
as love broadens,
deepens,
grows forever stronger,
we carry with us
each
and every possibility of love
towards the sea
where all loves meet
at last
to merge and mix,
to move
as love’s eternal tides
have merged
and mixed
and moved
through all the ages
past

and yet to come.

Life’s tides
command attention
to the never-ending flow
of love
which forces
life’s
inexorable
passage home
through landscapes of eternity.

When love leaves

I shall write a lot more poetry; enough to fill
the library at Alexandria. And I will read much more:
at least one anthology of Billy Collins
and everything that Neil Gaiman has written.

When things get tough from time to time
I will take refuge in a lemon and all the rest
of Pablo Neruda, without whom I would be nothing.
I may even return to the science fantasy of my youth.

I will eat well and make time each day
for aerobic exercise. And I will sleep much more:
at least the recommended daily dose
and not too late on Saturdays I’ll fill productively.

I’ll work as hard as I can to the best of my ability
at a job I hate. And I will achieve modest success,
although I doubt that anyone will care
a thousand years from now (and maybe less than that).

I will try to follow the advice of the Foresight report
as summarised in The Times of London, which tells me
to connect, be active and curious and learn and give.
So I will make a lot of lists to guide me as I go.

There’s much that I can do. I’ll fix my wheelchair,
learn how to bend blue notes on the chromatic harp,
complete the latest edit of my unpublishable novel,
sail, visit art galleries and read star maps in situ.

I will be kind to old ladies and mindful of others
at all times (although I may have to count to ten
now and again). And if some people say he lives
a decent life, a good one; I shall not contradict them.

On the way home from Bawley Point