| A tree of flame, a tree of death, Marks both enduring life And marriage made upon the clouds, A husband, child and wife |
| 1. Recall a sad, fond couple in a prison cell Who planned their future, both knowing full well That death alone lurked at the prison door; They shared a parting kiss, and as the hell Of battle beckoned, vowed to meet once more At one beloved place beyond the war, A place they aimed to stay and never roam, A place familiar, never seen before, A place they gave the sacred name of home. 2. Where are they now, and who can say where they are now? Entangled in the roots, stretched in a bough, Or deep within the trunk, sunk in the heart Of that subsuming, blazing tree? And how Could any trace of them survive to start Their lives again? Impossible to chart A line of continuity between These two, whom desperate war compelled to part, And this great tree, sole object to be seen. 3. Yet they are here, and we are here and everything That ever was and ever will be cling To this existence; As the tumbling tree Relaxes into stardust, and each ring Of fiery stuff alters substantially, And coalesces into worlds that we can see, Each, one by one, revolving round its sun, We feel at once the continuity, And feel as well — a new time has begun. 4. As prophesied by Poverist, the world we chose To concentrate upon now teems and glows With life; Among evolving creatures there Are two that I believe our memory knows — But do they know themselves? Are they aware Of their own histories, and do they care That they were caught up in such storm and strain? Do they recall how much there was to dare In death’s own face? Do they recall the pain? 5. Within the recollections of the conscious mind There may not be a trace for us to find Of past events; But somewhere in our souls Reflections linger of lives left behind; My lives? Our lives? Their lives? The varied roles Disasters, triumphs, treasures and the tolls Exacted on our atoms, recombined With fellow travelers — the kings, the proles, The fools, the geniuses — we can’t unwind So many varied parts, so many wholes. 6. There is a magical perspective we can take, And magical the method we shall make To follow this, our story, to conclusion; Once more, with this perspective we shall break Down barriers, the serial illusion Of times’ integrity, embrace confusion Between all places, personalities, All conflict and all peaceful resolution, And follow threads connecting all of these. 7. One thread shall lead us to a rustic, rugged house Whose occupants, a yeoman and his spouse, Here live in expectation of a glad event; The evening’s come; With supper done, they douse The candles; The togs and tools that represent Their labors set aside, now time is spent Before the glowing hearth, where, side by side And hand in hand, a brand new resident They both anticipate with love and pride. 8. To us, it’s clear — they are Fortus and Poverist, Whom last we saw in prison, where they kissed Away despair, and kissed away the war; What credulous, what naive optimist Could ever dream the scene we see before Our eyes — this home, this couple who adore Each other, and the rhythm of their life, Each homely pleasure, and each homely chore, The talk, the silences — husband and wife. 9. They sit before the fire, waiting quietly, Murmuring low in mutuality, Feeling the pleasant ache of bodies used In efforts of the day that they were free To choose and order; Here are two lives fused Into one effort, mutually enthused About their time and their common condition, Their life — which neither one would have refused — And waiting eagerly a new addition. 10. A mystery is demonstrated, I contend: That love must be both cause and dividend Of all division; One alone can’t feel Compelling impulses to merge and blend; This contradiction, this required ordeal This wound must hurt us, or we cannot heal; Standing apart, we learn togetherness, The smart of separation, raw and real, Our only teacher, whom we curse and bless. 11. Desire is surely fierce enough to move The stars and all their planets into being, And every creature’s longing serves to prove This fundamental origin, agreeing Not in one common circumstance, but freeing All those who love to seek whatever other Can lift their souls, inspire them into seeing Familial connection — sister, brother — Through deathless stardust, universal father-mother. 12. So varied is the journey of each searcher, And yet the themes rehearsed remain the same; Many the means to love, to care, to nurture — Our common bond is called by many a name; But it persists, the never-wasting flame That permeates our works, our daily manna, And wraps Fortus and Poverist in a frame Of fire where we behold with glad hosannah Couched in her mother’s arms their newborn Glorianna. finis canto xii ultimo biduo ante ides ianuarii mmxvii |
| Glorianna Table of Contents |
| The Cantos |
| Appendices |