To Vivian SmithA child one summer's evening soakeda glass jar in the reeling sunhoping to keep, when day was doneand all the sun's disciples cloakedin dream and darkness from his passion fled,this host, this pulse of light beside his bed.
Wrapped in a scarf his monstrance stoodready to bless, to exorcizemonsters that whispering would risenightly from the intricate woodthat ringed his bed, to light with total powerthe holy commonplace of field and flower.
He slept.
His sidelong violence summonedfiends whose mosaic vision sawhis heart entire.
Pincer and claw,trident and vampire fang, envenomedwith his most secret hate, reached and came nearto pierce him in the thicket of his fear.
He woke, recalled his jar of light,and trembling reached one hand to gropethe mantling scarf away.
Then hopefell headlong from its eagle height.
Through the dark house he ran, sobbing his loss,to the last clearing that he dared not cross:the bedroom where his comforterlay in his rival's fast embraceand faithless would not turn her facefrom the gross violence done to her.
Love's proud executants played from a scoreno child could read or realize.
Once moreto bed, and to worse dreams he went.
A ring of skeletons compelledhis steps with theirs.
His father heldfiddle and bow, and scraped assentto the malignant ballet.
The child dreamedthis dance perpetual, and waking screamedfresh morning to his window-sill.
As ravening birds began their songthe resurrected sun, whose longtriumph through flower-brushed fields would fillnight's gulfs and hungers, came to wink and laughin a glass jar beside a crumpled scarf.
So the loved other is heldfor mortal comfort, and taken,and the spirit's light dispelledas it falls from its dream to the deepto harrow heart's prison so heart may wakento peace in the paradise of sleep.
This version taken from 'The Penguin Book of Australian Verse' Edited with an introduction by Harry Heseltine.
Thanks to Maybe Oneday, one of our readers.
