Tuesday, 11 January 2011

After R.S Thomas - poem for Elizabeth H

So where is God after
the holocaust of the spirit
that burnt up whole a
generation of theologies,
fuelled by a remorselessly
clear ideology of the visible?

What is left for us, what
fertile words to breed
a new language of mystery?
All were slaughtered in
the gas-chambers of
stifling coherence, all
the comfortable words which
salved the modern wound,
(infected with half-formed doubts)
but could not protect against
the deadly virus of reason,
given no more than free
access to the arteries of the mind.

Copyright Jay Whittaker

24.10.83

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