My Wanderings in the Weary Land

Like a pioneer who can’t find the frontier
Like a soldier who can’t find the front
I wandered the weary land
Until out of the night there came a sound
And in a place between the darkness
And the break of dawn
I found a ruined building
Filled with a strange congregation
They were singing a forlorn hymn
Their voices like a cracked orchestra
Fascinated, I ventured inside
In the half-light I scrutinized their faces
Their features were worn thin like old coats
Hung with the wounds of war
Drawn, hollow, bereft of certainty
Suddenly a chorus of lamentations arose
The air dense with complaint, anger, victimhood
I felt their voices seeping into my head
My own thought-voice raised in bitterness too
I could become one of Them!
I turned towards the only bright light
A shard of silver in the dim distance
As if at the end of a tunnel
And I ran
Running that tunnel took years. And what years!
I witnessed the birth and funeral of Laddism
I heard the Great Unspoken
Saw cruelty masquerade as humour
Drank from a well in the wilderness
Wrote my songs in foreign rooms
Passed without seeing it
The Unfound Door to the Undiscovered Country
Cleaned sickness from my wounds
Lived through an unspeakable day
Saw crowds along a highway
And flowers on the roof of a car
Rode in the company of the Invisible Captain
Abandoned my tobacco in dark peaceful
Nine sixty-four Lucile Avenue
Loved and was loved
Gambled and lost
Wept, fought
Was able at least once to say:
«This place is God’s fortress — and so am I!»
Finally to emerge from the winter of my journey
Into the grey light of a small damp dawn
And so set forth this
This set forth
The testament of my wanderings
In the weary land