On Anti-Fascism, Veganism, Church-Going
Once I am sure there’s nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence,
Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new-
Cleaned or restored? Someone would know: I don’t.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
“Here endeth” much more loudly than I’d meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.
Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate, and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?
Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort or other will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,
A shape less recognizable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,
Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation – marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these – for whom was built
This special shell? For, though I’ve no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;
A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognised, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.
This entry was posted on April 2, 2017 at 1:15 AM and is filed under Rant/ Rave, real life with tags activism, Philip Larkin, poetry, politics, religion, resistance, social media, veganism. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
April 2, 2017 at 4:54 AM
Since you became a vegan my geography brags have ceased. I worry daily that you don’t know how brag worthy the Bay Area is!
Have people called you smug and judgemental, or is that an assumption?
April 2, 2017 at 10:04 PM
Oh yeah, two of my “old friends” literally called me smug on Facebook. Some people get REALLY worked up about people just announcing they are vegan, or posting occasional memes, etc. You seem to be largely unaffected in this way (thank goodness!). I have actually LOST FRIENDS simply because of the vegan/activism thing, and not from me personally confronting anyone! Some folks just can’t handle it. And this is a very common experience, I was warned about it before I “came out” but it is still always shocking. Something…violent..happens inside some people.
Trust me, I know all about the bay area! Another of my activist friends from here is moving to Berkeley. That’s three animal activists FROM HARRISBURG moving there. And I know it’s just a hotbed of liberalism in general. If things had happened in a slightly different order for me and K, we’d probably be on our way there ourselves.
April 2, 2017 at 11:55 PM
Well you gotta at least visit it then! There’s a guest room waiting for you. The BART system here is super easy to get to and from Berkeley and all other parts of the Bay. I can show you my bobbleheads.
People are dumb. The kneejerk reaction is to think, “what the fuck! I’ll eat what I wanna eat and Seth is doing this TO ME!” but most logical people in a matter of two seconds come to their senses. Hopefully you didn’t lose too close of friends (how close were they though if your meals were what ended things though?!?).
April 3, 2017 at 12:54 AM
Yeah these weren’t “current” close friends, but people who had been kind of close to me at points in my past. But it was no major loss; in both cases they were people who I was shocked to learn, after I had been out of the area for 5 years, they were EXACTLY the same as when I left. It was super depressing. Not that I need everyone to change the ways I am, but these people were…stagnated. Which can be all-too easy to do in Central PA.
You know, visiting there is not a bad idea. K and I keep kicking around the idea of a vaca at SOME point…mind you this is not in the NEAR future…could the guest room accommodate both of us?
April 3, 2017 at 5:36 AM
Absolutely. Got a Queen size bed in there. A Queen for some Queens!