Sweeney

Martin Burke
ISSUE 2006-2
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Sweeney God - and there is no disputing this - was the beginning engendering giving allotting allotting me this bird-life among the trees so see me hapless and hopeless and call my name call me Sweeney who no longer is what he once was but hopes to be again. * Black-thorn, white-thorn, dog-ditch rose yes, even though I fall among nettles and weeds there is beauty in the world. I see it and weep for my own lost condition for what has been given me for what I have come to be Alpha - the beginning of all things - and their end also - Alpha - the source and the destination but what is my destination? I who scuttle between branch and bush used to be the one who went unthinking of the world. * Dream and dream in the cold wood horsemen and horses, high cry of the hunt - am I the one whose death they plan? Stay in the branches do not move let the horsemen pass by. * Christ you know my words before I form them listen and do not dismiss me I was royal I was honoured in high places my commands moved a thousand men I moved between throne-room and forest I was king wherever I went and my name was password down the length of the long wood Now I am victim of my own rash nature something you could have no pity for. * Exposed in the open a target for arrows is there to be no comfort this night? My words trail off in the wind that blows from the north-east and brings with it the snow. * And this poverty - for all its complexity is utterly simple I am as nude as a shell or a stone as naked as a child new to the world Call me what you will - it does not matter - the crazed bird-man or the one God punishes. Either way you cannot dispute that I am naked in his eyes. * Haggard by moonlight I saw my face in a pool. It was enough to frighten me and rob all thought of redemption from the world. Sweet Christ - will it ever come that which seemed impossible to me when I looked in undisturbed water? * In winter in wetness and coldness I am a miserable thing - a once-was, a has-been now king of the ditch I cling to for shelter from rain. * And again it is winter - wolves in packs and the wind cold and sharp everything is an arrow aimed at me everything is an arrow aimed at Sweeney * Cold, dawn-cold and frost - there is no let-up. I was once champion of the road assigning rites and rights to all who passed. My name was fabulous and well known. But now now this madness has taken my mind and my heart into a bitter isolation cold dawn, cold frost - I harvest what I have sown. * Even the thorns malign me. Sweet Christ, we both have suffered the infidelities of branches famous, now infamous and ignoble, a laughable thing scare-crow king of the world. * In sweet time - o remember it! - this glen delighted me - I was all eyes for the rose as it bloomed. I sat between understanding and amazement as the white-thorn flourished. It is a life I remember but one which mocks me now as I hobble from hovel to hovel and cannot eat sweet berries. * And if only there was sleep in some sweet glen and not this exile and if only there was hope and its attrition and not this exile if only Christ would hear my prayer and bless these wings then there would be an end to all exile. * Shadows screams and the enemy comes? No place to hide no place to run to in the killing-field of the world. * Black sorrow black sorrow and the pain in my heart as I drag my shadow from tree to tree and sing the desolations. * Fluent - who is fluent in sorrow? Sweeney sings a desolate song he sings it again and again. * Sing what can be sung and call a song to atone for all past wrongs. As I sit in this glen among the leaves let this song be pleasing to you. * And the hounds came and the skilful bowmen and the men chasing the stag the way I once chased it and then they chased me - which is what I have come to a target piece the arrow aims at a dark shadow the days now chase. * King? I am everything that I despise even Christ could not love what I have become and will be again tomorrow. * Music? There is no music there is the stag's bellowing the howl of the wolf and the dumb cry of Sweeney. * To have survived and outlived the evil of these times. I was champion of nothing. At best a few berries nourished me yet only you dear Christ can nourish the heart of Sweeney as he falls into death.