Monday, November 12, 2018

In Distrust Of Merits





Strengthened to live, strengthened to die for
medals and positioned victories?
They're fighting, fighting, fighting the blind
man who thinks he sees,-
who cannot see that the enslaver is
enslaved; the hater, harmed.



American Cemetery at Normandy
Colleville-sur-Mer
Normandy, France



 O shining O firm star, O tumultuous
ocean lashed till small things go
as they will, the mounatinous
wave makes us who look, know depth.

Lost at sea before they fought!
O Star of David, star of Bethlehem,
O black imperial lion of the Lord-emblem
of a risen world-be joined at last, be joined.

There is hate's crown beneath which all is death;
there's love's without which none is king;
the blessed deeds bless the halo.
A contagion of sickness makes sickness,
contagion of trust can make trust. They're
fighting in deserts and caves, one by one,
in battalions and squadrons;
they're fighting that I
may yet recover from the disease, my self;
some have it lightly, some will die.

"Man's wolf to man?"
And we devour ourselves?
The enemy could not have made
a greater breach in our defenses.

One piloting a blind man can escape him,
but Job disheartened by false comfort knew,
that nothing is so deafening
as a blind man who can see.

O alive who are dead, who are proud
not to see, O small dust of the earth
that walks so arrogantly,
trust begets power and faith is
an affectionate thing. We
vow, we make this promise
to the fighting-it's a promise-"We'll
never hate black, white, red, yellow, Jew,
Gentile, Untouchable." 
 We are not competent 
 to make our own vows. 

With set jaw they are fighting,
fighting, fighting,
-some we love whom we know,
some we love but know not-that
hearts may feel and not be numb,
It cures me; or am I what
I can't believe in? 

 Some in snow, some on crags, 
some in quicksands,
little by little, much by much, they
are fighting, fighting, fighting, that where
there was death there may be life.

 "When a man is prey to anger,
he is moved by outside things; when he holds
his ground in patience, patience, patience,
that is action or beauty," the soldier's defense
and hardest armor for the fight.

 The world's an orphan's home. Shall
we never have peace without sorrow?
without pleas of the dying for
help that won't come?

 O quiet form upon the dust, I cannot
look and yet I must. If these great patient
dyings-all these agonies
and woundbearings and blood shed-
can teach us how to live, these
dyings were not wasted.

Hate-hardened heart, O heart of iron,
iron is iron till it is rust.

There never was a war that was
not inward; I must fight till
I have conquered in myself what
causes war, but I would not believe it.

I inwardly did nothing.

O Iscariot-like crime!

Beauty is everlasting

and dust is for a time.






"In Distrusts Of Merits"
Marianne Craig Moore
(1887-1972)
American poet and editor




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