The other night I was paging through George Barker's
Collected Poems 1930-1955, looking to reacquaint myself with some old favorites. I was particularly taken this time with the fifth of his
Sacred Elegies. And the thought occurred to me that -- since I suspect not many people are familiar with Barker's work these days -- it might not be a bad idea to post the poem here. Only not all at once. I think the effect of the poem will be greater to those unfamiliar with poem or poet if they encounter it one stanza at a time. So here is the first stanza. I will post the second tomorrow, the third Saturday, and the whole thing on Sunday.
I
These errors loved no less than the saint loves arrows
Repeat, Love has left the world. He is not here.
O God, like Love, revealing yourself in absence
So that, though farther than stars, like Love that sorrows
In separation, the desire in the heart of hearts
To come home to you makes you most manifest.
The booming zero spins as his halo where
Ashes of pride on all the tongues of sense
Crown us with negatives. O deal us in our deserts
The crumb of falling vanity. It is eucharist.
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