Читать книгу Ampersand - D. S. Martin - Страница 7

I — Matthew

Yes I knew Matthew

the best tax collector Capernaum ever had

I know that sounds more like an insult

but it’s true It wasn’t his fault

his skills were in demand & Herod

was willing to pay a good price

He wasn’t like the rest Rome usually employs

vermin sell-outs whose pockets clink

with the fishy stink of dishonest scales

like a monetary meat-cleaver that hacks us

When he threw parties he didn’t notice

the wealthy tisk-tisking his guest list

swelling with the names of the hoi polloi

even those unable to pay their taxes

I was one of the so-called sinners

at his retirement party when he left

his business to follow Jesus I laughed

when I heard his young rabbi tell the Pharisees

It isn’t those who think they’re healthy

who are eager to get well

II — Bartholomew

Can anything good come from Nazareth from the sticks

from that dotless hick-town on the edge of the map?

I get you son of Talmai the one John called Nathaniel

Nothing like that would drop in our laps round here

How can anything good come from Nowhereville

from somewhere even lower than where you’re from

from the wrong side of the tracks the under side

of a stone? Philip knew you well enough

to find you studying alone under your fig tree

knew well enough you weren’t mocking prophets

or balking at his mind so answered

your wonder Come & see

I get you Bartholomew No one could fool

you No naked emperors could pull

invisible wool over your eyes & so it’s all the better

that you were there to watch angels

up & down Jacob’s ladder that you saw

the Christ ascending to the skies

III — Philip of Bethsaida

When my friend questioned me about Jesus

I’d said Come & see but now realize

that eyes open gradually

that I’d had to start with cloudy shapes

of men like trees walking like

that man from my hometown peering

through the spittle

When the Greeks said We want to see Jesus

I grabbed Andrew fearing my brittle

thread of insight would snap

before knowing what to do for when

the Master had asked me about buying

the crowd bread my faith was too little

to say

When we reclined at the table with Jesus

he began to wash our feet Peter couldn’t

see why he’d bother Thomas tripped

on knowing the way & I asked him to show

us the Father His responses were kind

even though on the eve of his sorrows

we were still so blind

IV — Andrew Son of Jonah

He’d always been my level-headed son

& so I let him wander the wilderness

after his bruised-reed prophet

since he’d always return to mend the nets

& chase another catch I’d thought

Simon was the impetuous one

but Andrew was as steady as a boat on sand

When the Baptiser admitted he wasn’t the man

he pointed out the Lamb of God

& Andrew was caught

He followed & brought Simon

& some other local boys along too

What was I supposed to do?

I only had a fishing life

& he had much more to offer than I’d got

I only wish it had been when I was young

that Messiah came not leaving me to fish

& grow old with the same ache in my bones

my two sons following the unknown

leaving me with naught

V — A Fisherman Called James

The expanse above peers into the depths

Here fishermen reap as though they’re netting

featherless birds from the blue hills

where cumulus sheep casually drift

Land sky & sea all merge in Galilee

They fish for musht grip heavy nets

which shimmer & rip into their hands

drip into water & into their cedar boat

The sons of Zebedee float across the face of the deep

lift sails high dip oars into the inverted sky

James & his brother grew up on this shore

familiar with the way squalls rip

over the hills whip up mountainous waves

& how the sea behaves

He knew how bad this storm was

darkness churning above & below

surges tossing them as he Peter Andrew

& John pulled at the tiny ship’s oars like slaves

fearing the spill of water over the gunwale

& so he was all the more startled

when all ceased at his Lord’s Peace be still

& yet on a similar night crossing after he got

over the shock was more able to accept

Christ’s walk across those shiny waves

Often while his ears listened to his Master talk

to the crowds his eyes would sail

over the Judean hills that appeared to undulate

like Galilee bearing boat-shaped clouds For years

he’d watched bright seabirds easily float

on a breeze that seemed as constant as water

as solid as earth & so again he was better prepared

when Jesus rose into the sky & disappeared from sight

VI — James the Less

In what way were you less? Shorter

younger shyer than that son of thunder

who shared your name? Not one to impress

or be given fame or the one who came

later to the band? Were you the same James

whose father was Alphaeus the one whose mother

was a second Mary beneath the cross

the second mentioned among the women

at the tomb? Would you confess

to taking the blame to feeling the worst

to seeing yourself whenever he would bless

the least in the kingdom? Step up James

claim your place Remember he said

the last shall be first

VII — Simon the Zealot

When I was a child in my father’s home

before I was presented at the temple

in the days when Joazar the priest

would have sold us all for peace

Judas the Galilean prevented

such subjection to the hated ways of Rome

Some say he was a brigand when he raided

a palace & armoury & carried away the gold

After his death his insurrection faded

At first I found another to follow from Galilee

for I was bold to smother the Gentile breath

we breathe He told us he came to bring a sword

between brothers but it became a spiritual flame

His authority out-burned the Pharisees

for by his own name he cast out demons

I took on a new zeal far more real

with true connection to Israel’s consolation

For this cause I’d even be sawn in two

VIII — The Judas Tree

Cercis Siliquastrum

From within the alabaster skull of a man

better off unborn

throbs the pressure of regret

The hand that dipped into the bags

that dipped bread in the dish

that reached for bloody stars

now scatters to the ground a silver constellation

for the burial of aliens

& strangers

Too late No return Too late

The garden’s salty kiss of blood

stains his lips ripe

like Zechariah’s prophesy

Irretrievable

as the spikenard of devotion He grasps

for consolation in the word friend

Bloody blossoms hang

from the cursed Judas Tree

IX — Jude

How horrid to live with a tainted name

to be so easily confused with one who sold your Lord

Who could blame you Jude

for going by Thaddaeus afterward?

I’m with you too in wondering why

Christ wouldn’t show himself to the world

Is this why they say you went to Syria

to Libya to Armenia to show him yourself?

O patron saint of lost causes

under either of your names

when the iconographers paint you

they show your Pentecostal flames

O Courageous Heart he said he’d show

himself to those who love him hiding

behind parables siding with the dogs

beneath the children’s table & so

you sought to spread that love

as much as you were able

X — Thomas Didymus

When Mary Magdalene said she’d seen

the Lord it was strangely disappointing

One of the worst women saved from the street

to have been first I knew it must be true

that’s just what he would do but then

when I was the only one to fight fear

& search for myself the others lagging behind

it was like the soldier’s spear went right through

me too when I returned to hear

the others bragging (that was the worst)

that I was the only one not to have been there

not to have seen where his hands were pierced

I went into denial I won’t believe I said

Anything less than my fingers in his wounds

won’t be enough My words sounded odd

to my ears A week later I was among

them when he appeared & called my bluff

My Lord & my God Conviction rolled off my tongue

XI — Simon Peter

After they’d climbed the hilltop there came the switch

The scene suddenly defied comprehension bright

streams of light poured from every pore of the Lord’s being

& glistened white from every transfigured stitch

in his clothing obscuring all else The others

awestruck knew enough to listen & watch

but Peter mumbled something asinine wanting to set

up little shrines for Christ & the two prophets

His tongue often stumbled ahead He wouldn’t let

the Lord wash his feet & then wanted to be washed

head to foot He’d follow to the death he said

but blurted denial to a little servant girl Yet

he’d stepped over the gunwale into the wake

of their storm-tossed ship he dove into the lake

to reach Christ on the beach & put first into speech

the foundation rock that would change the world

XII — John the Beloved

When my brother & I first left our father’s nets

who could have predicted this index of where the Lord

would lead? Twelve to eleven to an uncountable

expanse of stars to Persia to Egypt to Rome

to death by sword by stoning being sawn in two

beheaded & crucified Andrew on an X

cross & Peter upside down They each boldly told

of what they’d seen as they died

Domitian tried to silence me sent me alone to Patmos

where I received a vision of the luminous Word

aglow like pristine snow & pure gold

encircled by seven lampstands It was no less

dumbfounding than watching a girl who’d died

being lifted to her feet no less astounding

than having seen him aglow

with Elijah & Moses on the high hillside

Our understanding was incomplete

We were so numb to wonder that through his deep

agony in Gethsemane we actually fell asleep

then waked in panic & scattered like sheep

whose shepherd’s been struck just as he’d said

we would As I stood beneath his dying

he assigned me to tend to his crying mother

whose battered heart ached

Like thunder the earth quaked as noon imitated

midnight & he became like any other dead man

On the third day I was the one who outran

Peter to the tomb up in Galilee I was the one

who recognize him on the shore & I was among

those who watched him rise to the skies

to be seen no more This is why I was willing to die

or grow to old age proclaiming the Son of Man