Sunday, January 2, 2011

The Dead Nation (Oh, Israel)

The Dead Nation
(Oh, Israel)

(Interlude to the poem “The Bulls of Bashan)

Since earliest childhood I have been strangely fascinated by the mystery that surrounds me (the voice of God that is, and this voice started one day walking up a lonely path, at the age of twelve), the history of Israel, and the so called Holy Land and in particular the last days (as in the Book of Revelation). My interest is keenest, perhaps, in that relationship I have with the Trinity (the Father, Son and Holy Spirit), talking to God, and listening to what he has to say. As in much of my poetry, in particular, “The Last Trumpet,” (1984), and most recently in “The Bulls of Bashan,” a poem that has annoyed Israel itself, to condemn it as Anti Israel (but how wrong they are; if there was no Israel, their might not have been a Christian faith, of which I am), and now the compliment to “The Bulls of Bashan,” called “The Dead Nation.” I may also include the most recent book I wrote called “Stone Heap of the Wildcat” a book on Israel itself, and the Rephaim Giants of old; I am not a prophet, or anything of that nature—nor claim to be, just a voice that follows the course given to him, by the other voice (and to be quite frank, I’m too old to care if you think I’m nuts); anyhow, I hope you enjoy this part of the poem:

Until you see
Life follows me—
You shall walk with the dead
You shall walk on thorns
Leaving drops of blood (reminders)

Are you not the mindless, and the blind?
Like Nebuchadnezzar—who
Lived with the wild
Donkeys and ate grass
Like cattle—until
He acknowledge that I the Most High God
Is sovereign over
The kingdoms of men…!

Come vagabond
(Grasshoppers of the world)
Come drink until your breast
Turns red
Party and dance
In a soldier’s fancy;
Your closed eyes
Will soon be opened
From the black light
That has filled it—

I shall cut your roots
From around your ankles
With a lightening-bolt
Again we will gradually
Return to lifeAs if we have come into sight
From under the earth
As if from the bottom
Of a volcano
To look down from the clouds!
You’ll return wounded;
And those will be memories
Fire that produced flowers
((Lest I have to
Destroy you again
Like a dead woman) (and
Raise you up like Lazarus))
As you have to be
In order to be
To become the smell
That I love.
A fire burns
Between us—
(Oh, Israel—love the world
As I love you)

If suddenly I no
Longer exist for you
I shall go on living.
So, even if I am
Mute on this matter
The greatest of victories
Will come through
Your willingness
To lift your blindness;
If you are not
If you have died
Man has no voice—
I cannot be dead
I shall go with

(I am a jealous God,
I’ve told you this before
Come like a flowing river
Awaiting the raging sea
Bring all your people
I will bless them
And we shall always be:
I and you, and those
Upon the earth
Who wish to begin life?)

Notes: No: 2888/ 1-2-2011