We descend, then, to a place of greater pain.
Here darkness reigns, lit by the long hum
of afternoon; fluorescent tubes, monologues
at the dinner table; a bedside lamp,
in daylight a spent moon. Men hate their jobs,
wives, their bastard children; and women,
themselves, spouses, long impotent
with rage.
For a time we stared, said nothing; then at last
I said: “Master, who are these people?
Why are they here, and what have they done
to merit such suffering?” And the Master:
“They squandered their prime; fell in love, suffered,
married young; had children, mortgages:
securities, shelter. Men receded, turned in –
became reticent; abstract, lost
in the mirror; trod the carpet of the living room,
paced the hall in the muffled hours
of midnight, week-day afternoons; and women,
not loved, bitter; silent, blowing bubbles
beneath the surface, eye-deep in dishwater.
No sin has condemned them,
but their circumstances; and now they wander,
dead Shades across the endless
quarter acre, Sunday mowers; sprinklers,
blooming flowers, the rustling song
of cicada.
Each soul is cloistered, censured; beaten down.
And no-one hears the howls but their own, far away
like a shell to the ear”.
And I thundered: “Where is God’s love!” “Son”,
replied the Master, calm yourself. This is but
the second Round! There are hells
much worse, speaking of which…
Take my hand: for further down the road
I will show you the misery of those that hunger.”
And we went on down the road.
thanks Peter. You may, if you think so. The old man cough – Gerontion. love that.
What a ‘briilliant’ (if I might be so bold to use this rather epithet though ‘dulled’ by overuse perhaps) transplanting of Dante. I hear the dry coughs of old man T.S. Eliot, looking over this barren domain. Call it satire, call it whatever we might, I love it!
i see. Just clicked what you mean. I was taking it to mean those that ‘come next’ – in the next Round (circle). But you mean: ‘those that have been successful’, yes? That’s clever. But i like the sound of ‘hunger’ more. Let me consider. would be grateful for others’ opinions. Thanks Dean. Yes, Larkin in particular can be caustic (such a pretty name he has tho!).
And thanks for summing it up like that, John.
A mystical tale of entrapment. Very nice.
Hi, Mark, I am hearing Larkin and Auden in this; in the sentiment certainly, of being imprisoned in existence; and I wonder if the last line would be more effective if it read ‘…the misery of those that succeed.’ A good read, though, as it is.