For she, whose parts maintainde a perfect musique,
Whose beautie shin’de more then the blushing morning,
Who much did passe in state the stately mountaines,
in straightnes past the Cedars of the forrests,
Hath cast me wretch into eternall evening,
By taking her two Sunnes from these dark vallies.
Or to approach this romantic doldrum from another angle:
Hath cast me into a perfect musique…
Memory scorns the hand
In sweet response to heaven
Fame outlives
Mighty hearts
Earth and sea obey
The blood of many a son
Tarnished in liberty
An offended sky
Hoarsely sung,
Shadows wear the crowns
The conquering sons of
Neptune’s vaunted eye,
His dinted blade
The echoes sing,
Your faith of obedience
Like snow flakes
Comets of heaven
March on to glory,
No tongue shall number
A calm blue ocean
The glorious dead
Came upon the sea
Omen’d
The tide of that deep abyss
Struck by the Templars’ sword
Each vaunted knight
An inspiring heaven
One vast clay sun
Now morning emerald
Enchantment’s radiant form
In desolation’s train –
Her last revenge
The cherished isle of steel
A soldier’s bed –
Paradise
Goes terribly forth
The black herald of sorrow
Reeking in dying cadence
Linger on the carnival
Look on the headless brothers
Your work of hate
Maddening
A whirlwind’s Autumn on helmets clashing
Deaden the pangs of a soldier’s doom
Onward Templars press
A frenzied rite
On condor’s wing a cold embrace
Thunder blackening the lament
A winding sheet
Like seafroth
His swollen veins darkening
Hail our Queen!
The edge upon our lips
Mockeries
Wading in a fiery grave
Each convent bell
Joy
No seabird to warn the boatman
A fairy thing –
The whiteness of her sail
Raptures your lonely shore
Whispery the void
Nature a weary scene
Not a sigh escaped
Laugh of vacancy
Babylon’s lustful day
The night grown weary
All was still
The chains savage
The (original) 56 page poem is a retelling of history & loaded with glorification of battle & cultural/religious point of view, details of woe and foe, and the ecstasy of triumphs. It’s really quite the technicolour blockbuster epic. Followed by almost 30 pages of historical text. I found it when I was looking for a connection between the Knights Templar and limestone (believe it or not). Two things happened simultaneously: I was skimming an old Canadian educational book called ‘Pioneer Arts and Crafts’ written by Edwin G. Guillet, M.A. (dedicated to Marguerite Guillet Brooks – Designer, Thread Workers Guild of America) and reading a fascinating section about ‘Lime – Burning.’ At the same time I had a digital image, rather ‘knight-ish,’ which I wanted to use with a poem. I began to imagine Marguerite sewing silk tassels for a knight’s helmet. And somehow, well, it all came together. My ‘erasing’ was done fairly quickly, like snapshots, grabbing a few impressions.
poemimage 