Collected Poems Anthony Burgess (best pdf reader for ebooks txt) 📖

have a feeling – ’

What feeling, woman? ‘There must be a reason.

What are they doing up there?’ Pointing

Into the distance, and they squinted into

The distance, to the mountain range,

To two lone figures, high up, scanning the distance.

Moses pointed afar. ‘Is that Canaan?’

Aaron asked. ‘It is what I saw in my dream,’

Said Moses. ‘I heard the name.’ What Aaron saw

Was wilderness and mountain. ‘Now,’ said Moses,

‘We must spy out the land. There will be a long

Time of waiting still. Set up the tabernacle.

Our symbol of permanency.’ Aaron groaned:

‘Permanency. What do we live on?’ What do we live on?

They asked that question down in the wilderness,

Setting up their tents. One man said to another:

‘Can you see anything beyond there?’ –

‘The same as lies beyond there – the way we came.’ –

‘Then what is all the fuss about?’ – “He says

We’re near it. But we’ve been near it

Ever since we left Egypt. It’s always the same.

Sand sand sand and more sand.” –

‘Be reasonable. We have rocks as well, sometimes.’

And, in mock solemnity, the other intoned:

‘Beyond there, O my people, lieth Canaan.

And what is Canaan?’ Another growled: ‘It’s a word

Meaning a dry throttle and an empty glut.

And sand, of course.’ He spat towards the sand.

The sun and sand wrestled for the moisture

And the sand won. In the midst of the encampment

The ark of the covenant, magnificently adorned,

(Nothing too good for the law, they growled) shone out,

And artists still worked on its adorning. Aaron

Called out the names of those who were to spy

Into the wilderness ahead, one from each tribe:

‘Shammua, son of Zaccur, from the tribe of Reuben.

Shaphat, son of Hori, from the tribe of Simeon.

Caleb, son of Jephunneh, from the tribe of Judah.

Igal, son of Joseph, from the tribe of Issachar.

Joshua, son of Nun, from the tribe of Ephraim.

Palti, son of Raphu, from the tribe of Benjamin.

Gaddiel, son of Sodi, from the tribe of Zebulun.’

And so to the end of the twelve. Moses addressed them:

‘Over there, my sons – the land of Canaan.

Yes, the promised land. But a land so fertile

That it is doubtless inhabited by men

Of rich flesh and strong bone. Yet remember:

Whoever now possesses the land possesses it

Not by God’s promise. You will find people wild, uncircumcised,

Worshipping idols. The land is ours,

But not ours for the easy taking. Your task

Is to spy out the land.’ They listened, alert.

‘Get you up this way southward and go up

Into the mountain, and see the land, what it is.

Whether it is fat or lean, whether there is timber

Or not. And be of good courage, my children,

And bring of the fruit of the land.’ In his tent, near dawn,

Joshua lay with a girl, who said: ‘How long?’ –

‘Who knows?’ he answered. – ‘But will you be back?’ –

‘Again, who knows? But you will be a good reason

For wanting to come back,’ embracing her.

‘Why,’ she asked, ‘is it you who have to go?

I thought you were learning to stand in his place’. –

‘He would go himself’, said Joshua, ‘if he were younger.

He’s as curious as I am.’ The girl pouted:

‘That is the trouble with me. Too much curiosity.

Never at rest.’ He kissed her. – ‘You are my rest,

You are my heart’s ease, my soul’s tranquillity.’ –

‘But curiosity comes first’, she said. – ‘Alas,

Daybreak,’ and he gave her a final kiss. She said,

Sardonic: ‘You had better blow your horn.’

He smiled, strode out, and blew it. They assembled,

The eleven others, armed for adventure,

Hearing, as they went, with Joshua leading,

Words Moses had spoken: See the people

That dwell therein, whether they be strong or weak,

Few or many. And what cities they dwell in –

Whether in tents or in strongholds. Search the land

From the wilderness of Zin unto Rehob.

You will come, so says the Lord, to Hebron,

Where Ahiman, Sheshai and Tamlai dwell,

The powerful children of Anak. Be of good courage…

So time passed and the spies did not return,

But the men of Israel said: ‘It is always the same.

He starts something off, and then we wait.’

The women: ‘Like laying dishes for a meal

When you know there is nothing to eat.’ And the men, impatient:

‘Is anything being done? Magic, that is.

Spells, anything, to get something done?’

But other men said: ‘That is against the law.’

What was against the law appealed to Dathan,

Who lighted a fire and seasoned it with nitre

And addressed the coloured flames: ‘Tell us, we beg you,

O spirits of the desert, when these twelve

Are going to return.’ There was no reply.

‘What do they say?’ asked the credulous. Dathan said:

‘They say they do not know.’ – ‘Try something else.’

Dathan drew charcoal, sulphur mixed with nitre

And raised a flashing spurt. ‘They say,’ he said,

‘Never.’ But over mountain slopes in the sunlight,

Under stars, standing on hilltops, seeing

Distant night-fires, and soon – ah, blessed – hearing

Tumbling horns hurtling down rocks, dauntless the twelve

Fared on. One day, from behind bushes, some saw

Huge-limbed laughing men, bathing in a spring,

Speaking strange language, laving metal muscles,

Tough of sinew. Ahimen? Sheshnai? Tamlai?

If so, God help the Israelites, muttered Joshua.

While, back there in the encampment, the Israelites,

Mercifully shut off from future troubles,

Pondered present agonies, as they called them.

Dathan said: ‘Manna, nothing but manna. How about some

Flesh to eat, as in the old days?’ chewing his manna

With a sour face, and his wife said: ‘Kill a sheep.’ –

‘A priest has to do that for you,’ Dathan said.

‘And no priest will do it. We have to, he says, he,

Conserve the livestock. God help us, or somebody.’

His wife dreamed, looking into their fire, of Egypt:

‘Remember the fish we used to eat, and the melons,

The leeks, cucumbers, onions, garlic?’ – ‘Don’t,’ he cried.

‘You make me thirsty. Not till tomorrow midday

Does he strike the rock, his twice-weekly miracle.’

No miracles in Eshcol, or all miracle,

The crystal plashing down, the pomegranates,

The grape-clusters heavy on the vine,

While the spies stared incredulous before

Their thirst and hunger growled at idle fingers,

And then the fingers tore, cluster after cluster,

And the noon was a riot of juice. Juice-stained, they heard

What greatly qualified this juicy heaven,

Mouths open, dripping juice, listening to

An undoubted war-chant. Some, from hill-slopes, saw

A distant dust of an army, armour and swords

Catching the light,