Dedication:
Taliesin to Brother Prayer
Speak, good brother, in your own rhythms,
in your internal music tuned to external cadences,
your stories of the princeling Arthur
weaning himself for battle with the dark
keening sorrow at youthful fault;
Speak, good Taleteller, in words
the commons use. You have no need to
share my iambs, borrow from my heritage of
metaphor--your voice is clear and sound and strong.
[Stronger now, in this flat world without poetic soul,
than mine--far-reaching, telling truth
as Story that reveals its larger Truth.]
Speak, good Friar, let your crafted words
echo across the continent and declare
another Arthur, another Avalon
in crystalline dreams. Let your modulating voice
Blend strains of red and white, green and brown,
white and black...create anew my Arthur
as your own, your Arthur to become
my own, our own to share with all the worlds.
Speak, good brother, who once mastered
song and now--through choice--elevates
pure speech to incorporate the living cadences
and rhythms of the deeper Song subsuming all.
Taliesin to His Harp
"An Arthur! An Arthur! We have
An Arthur!" echoes ivory-colored halls
and untouched shelves creaking silently
beneath the pall of unread tomes
and popular images and garish cartoons
and computer-animated feature-fabliaux and
raucous voices explaining expanding
enhancing enlarging by diminishing...
And yet I would have another Arthur
speak another Arthur woven in eastern
Avalon, weaving western Avalon in
another place, another time
another timelessness that undercuts
pretentious haughtitudes--as if the Arthur
of my heart were somehow less real
than vain imaginings excreted by minds
that no more believe the core of Story than
allow that Story to caress their core
and change them and define them and in
so doing refine them and exchange
icon for ideal. I would sing an Arthur
who can feel and breathe and live and
change forever the Camelot he would build.
I would sing Williams' Arthur, and Lewis's
and more--I would sing the myth incarnated,
the legend and the lore impassioned, passing
myth-like through the reins of history and
passing, changing, changing, changing.
I would sing an Arthur.
I would sing a new unchanging entity
Both symbol and reality, both king and King.
I am Taliesin, of Arthur's court, and I would sing.
Taliesin to Light
Did you understand, Light, the burden
you chose in bearing him?
Did you understand, Light, the cost
in heartache, sorrow, grim
sparring with death and darkness?
Did you hope, Light, for that joy
beyond all joy, the mortal vision?
Did you hope, Light, for your boy?
Did you weep, Light, blood-dark tears
when Merlin touched him with deep dreams?
Did you weep, Light, green-shadowed tears
when daylight bowed to silver moonbeams
and dreams consumed the son you bear?
Did you rise, Light, with the dawn
and press your hand against your unborn son?
Did you rise, Light, with the Dawn?
The Solstice-Born
Nearly so, so nearly cusped against the back
Of summer, breast of winter--for perfected
Symmetry but two days lacking;
Sufficient, though, in one who bore no need
Of incarnational symbology--
And near, so near the winter Seed
That sprouted prefigurements and completion.
Solstice-born, he who adds, who would add,
Who will add through his subtraction
Present absence, absent presence.
Ice ridges and wolf cries welcomed him
Pine boughs and wood smoke offered incense,
Nearly so, so nearly cusped against the breast
Of balanced winter-year, ice-crystal kissed.
Taliesin Recounts the Wound to Arthur's Leg
It might have been an arm, a shoulder blade,
A rib (the thirteenth, harkening to its mate),
A hip-joint traitor-turned to cowled leg,
Or even an eye obscured by unseen mote;
It could have been any of these, his body
Turned against the man-soul inhabiting,
But it was his leg, infected badly,
Microscopic darkness orbiting
Blood, destroying it--that simple--to kill
The King before his crown could fit full forged.
But excised--bone cut out with bloody skill--
Removed, the sickness could no longer gorge
Itself on him, and died. Wounded, healed, lamed,
He bore its scars a lifetime, just the same.
Arthur and the Head of Bran
In the last hour of his childtime, Uther's
Son braved Tower Hill alone to find out
For himself what enduring powers there be.
Secluded under trees sacred to gods
From times beyond living memory, he
Exhumed the head of Brennius, studied
Its worm-smoothed brow.Wide as imagined seas,
The skull stared hollowly. Knowledge eddied
Through Uther's son: "Bran has no eyes, no ears,
No mouth. He cannot speak green truth, listen
To revolving prayers rising, see tear-
Sacrifices in valiant hearts." He hastened
From Tower Hill, eyes afire, breast aflame,
Voiceless skull in hand...Arthur announced God's Name.
The Grail
hidden beyond westward mists and sun-sleeps,
beyond waves of grasses green-brown ripe, and
hunched flanks of mountains, and roiled streams deep
with life, it sleeps also and dreams and sends
its dreams in dreams to Arthur where he lies
wide-eyed on a garret bed beneath rough
hand-hewn shingles that weep yet sticking tears
and glimmer lightness, dim but still enough
to catch his waking dreams and cast them high
as mountain pinnacles and reflect them
in six-spired elegance and draw from eyes
that see beyond rough shingles to the one--
tears unspoken for the vessel and blood
of Christ, granite-encased for Galahad.
Arthur and Guinevere
West and south, where fabled silvered metals
Rested (or were hoped to rest) in rich earth,
He journeyed, not just to solve their riddles
But to bring beauty to his granite hearth--
Instead of buried silver, raven locks;
Instead of dark-clasped secrets, hazel eyes;
Instead of harsh earth-scrabbling, heart-felt looks;
Instead of metal hoards, love-promised ease....
She journeyed north and east with him, this bride,
To share his visions of the City soon
To bloom. She bore him children, living and dead;
Transformed coarse tents into a mansion-home.
But when he fell, and we pursued his dream...,
She stayed behind, and would not follow him.
Taliesin Considers Excalibur
It was no woman's arm that bore his sword
Weeping upward from an ice-placid lake
To arm him for blood-battles yet to come--
His weapon wore the biting edge of words.
It did not come to him, this life-shield sword,
Sweeping upward from still, watery rest;
He dug for it, removed it from its stone store-
Place, redeemed it with his warm, breath-locked words.
It was no glistering, steel-shaft faerie sword
Sleeping sightless, beyond Time's history;
His the vision, the graver mystery,
That from archaic dust formed sun-sharp words.
It was no woman's arm that wore his sword--
His weapon bore the biting edge of words.
Arthur and the Serpents
They gathered in tight knots around three snakes--
Coiled, sinuous as dragon's-breath, rude men
Prodded diamond scales with blunt-tipped oak sticks
Torn from nearby trees...once straight, living, green;
Men prodded, stirring dumb serpents to wrath,
Then poised on the edge of slaughtering them,
As if awaiting his permissive word--
Instead he held his warriors back; a dam
Across floods of fear and anger, he warned
Against thoughtless death. Later, one cold night,
One knight awoke to find a serpent warmed
Beside his cheek. "And thus at peace, no fight
Between them, they shared a bed," he said; and
None could know which was Lion, which was Lamb.
Taliesin and Arthur's Majesty:
At the Founding of the City
I have witnessed his majesty in lands
none living would possess, in wilderness
wastes rejected and reviled--lands he blessed
with vast visions and mild words of command;
I have witnessed his majesty in swamps,
pestilent, malarial, where each breath
bred fever-chills, delirium, and death--
his touch evaporated deadly damps;
I have witnessed his majesty in tents
mildew-mottled, torn, ravaged by winds
and rains--encampments baser than base sins
he fought, transformed to godly monuments;
I have felt his raw silk handkerchief laid
on hot flesh...my self retrieved from the Dead.
Taliesin and the Questions
I chose to let the questions rest unasked
although I knew...believed...hoped he had sensed
true answers. Instead I joined him at tasks
I had disdained. In conscious ignorance
we waited by white City gates to greet
arrivals at their journey's end; we bound
gangrenous wounds, excised embedded shot
with penknife tips; we raised dippers moon-round
and glistening to lips that thirsted for
more than water; offered smiles to hearts thrust
down by mobs, to eyes innured to salt-tears,
tongues longing to taste simple words of trust--
For months we wept our self-appointed task;
I chose to let the questions rest unasked....
Taliesin Witnesses the Commission to the Table
Twelve rose from his table, knelt to receive
His blessings, faded into waiting night
Leaving him alone to raise white walls, save
The City from flowing onslaughts of hate;
Twelve stole their way to the grey cornerstone
Lying dust-shrouded, belying blood-spoor toil
To roll it from earth-shadows without stain;
Twelve prayed, departed, questing for their Grails--
They would win strong workers for the City
In distant kingdoms. Twelve families lay ill,
Some dying, all hoping. From the jetty
Arthur stared unblinking Eastward. A pall
Darkened low hills...but he saw only Dawn--
New Sunrise--and twelve Table-Knights' return.
Arthur and the Mountains
On two Badon's he conquered, the first climbed
Stone by stone, four times--ascending over
Echo-bones of war-men long ages dead,
Reaching through bleached remnants for victory.
The second he saw in dream-time visions
But conquered yet, gazing westward, white face
Glowing in red mountain-sunsets only
He could see. From the plains--"Beautiful Place"
On the river--he alone could taste
Hot sweat, smell pure blood his people must shed
Before they reach wild desert Grail-Wastes,
Penetrate granite battlements. Broad
As memory, his Valley lapped Badon's
Roots, peaceful beneath harvest-gold shadows.
Taliesin Reacts to Arthur's Revelation
He has counselled me to wed another
art, this King who long consumed my words with
eager hunger, nourished his sovereign heart
on rhythms intricate as misted breath
that permeates thought-convolutions of
blood, mind, soul. He has counselled me to wed
another art, to share my single love
with another bride--betray beloved words.
How can I not act according to his
will? how turn my back on his voiced command?
But what he asks is harder than cold stones,
or bearded ice that cracks on river strands--
As easily could I love two women
equally, as sever from my sole song.
Arthur's Great Hall
It was to be perfect...the perfect place:
Sun-stones, Star-stones, Moon-stones, Spire-columns to
Pinion Earth to Sky, pull Time down, embrace
Vast space between Here and Eternity;
It was to be his citadel: marbled
Mountain cresting his City's future folds;
It was to house his chosen Knights' Table,
Without Beginning and without an End;
It was...and was not. Even before walls
Rose sunset-high, before roof sparkled with
Dew, before squared pillars bore weight of ills,
His City lay beleaguered by black wrath,
His perfect place lay flayed as Evil's home...
And he lay silent in his secret tomb.
Taliesin and the Lamb
Some whispered him a traitor, even those
whose lives cross-linked with his in blood and flesh;
Some spoke out quickly to condemn his rash
setting off alone on dark western quests;
Others jibed against his courage, called him
"Coward," "Thief," who stole their faith and hearts, set
out without them across wide rivers, pit
his Self against their greater pain...and won.
I crept behind him in morning shadows--
heard his heart break for Camelot, now doomed;
saw her slash his heart with accusations;
felt him swim against black-prophetic gloom,
stare at silver flecks in vatic waters,
sigh himself to death...our lamb to slaughter.
Taliesin Bemoans His Loss of Words
How can I sing his death, though I was there?
Forced, final night shock-charged with his sorrow
For all that would be lost with the morrow--
How could I sing that night, though I was there?
How can I sing his death, though I was there?
Hushed voices sharing a solemn, subtle hymn,
Him joining as small hours of blood-life dimmed--
How could I sing that hymn, though I was there?
How can I sing his death, though I was there?
Rushed, frantic rout of traitors garbed in grey,
Vile act of darkness eclipsing bright day--
How could I sing that darkness, though I was there?
How could I sing his death--last moments flareÉ
Harsh bullets rip his flesh--though I was there?
Taliesin at the Grave of Arthur
Ten thousand mourners flowed beside his bier,
Sorrow beyond words measured in dull, slow,
Still tread--in unashamed, unnoted tears--
And where his body rests, they do not know....
At evening, bluestone doors slid closed. Those few
Blood-linked removed his corpse. In fear of foes
Maddened for revenge, they hid him from view--
But where his body sleeps, they do not know....
At midnight, I guarded his secret grave.
Heaven opened. Summer rains overpoured
Their bounds, buried black portals to the Cave--
And where his body sleeps, I only know....
Taliesin Overlooks the Ruins of Camelot
And now that he is--not dead, no, but passed,
departed--now that his shadow no longer
stripes the streets of his glory ... what is left
from this height, to see, to taste in anger?
And now that he is gone, where is the whiteness
on the hill? or stone suns and moons and stars
he willed to be? and they were as his breath
rising, sacred fires from honest hearths.
And now that he is gone, what is the cost
of our tears? the savor of our silence?
why prolong the agony of these ghost-
walls waiting doom and bloody violence?
Only this--that partings unsubstantial
Heighten joy in promised, hoped renewal.
ENVOI
Taliesin's Testament
If you have lived these verses well, remember
I was Taliesin, once Arthur's Bard;
In my mouth, Earth and Air trans-shifted, Fire
with Water intermixed. In life I heard
His voice speak Mysteries, Visions word-clothed;
In his defense I emptied out my hoard
Of Poetry and scattered--nothing loath--
All of my self upon four questing winds.
In that lay immortality, that both
Of us extend beyond our times, expand
(Me through seed-words, he through root-prophecy),
Bud green, and burgeon in the soil of minds.
His voice and mine recall his Story's splendor;
And you who live these verses well, remember....