Almost there: Jerusalem reading for 6 October

Here is the version I shall read at 13.15 on Saturday 6 October in the Lear Exhibition Gallery.

      Jerusalem           A poem by Nick Owen             2012

We look over his shoulder                                             

At Shepherds standing by,  

Unmindful of the city.

An open sky is heaven enough for them.

But shining on the other hill

The artist shows so clear

The place they call Jerusalem

So far and yet so near.

A valley lies below us, bare and dark.

For me this has to be the shadow of death,

A place of desolation, fearful, stark,

Where all too many soldiers took their final breath.

Armies of the past, and of the future too;

We do not see them now upon the ground

And yet I think I hear their dreadful sound.

Over his shoulder we see some goats or sheep

In pastures almost green,

A peaceful, restful, pastoral scene;

Even the rocks are bright and clean.

He might have drawn on William Blake.

These could be northern English hills;

An English man’s Jerusalem to make,

Not covered in satanic mills.

Out of nowhere, a God without a face

Compels the souls of men to make for this.

It whispers to the world, “This is the place

Which, more than any other, is the source of bliss,

More powerful, more wonderful than any lover’s kiss.

For, if there is redemption, it is here.

Come all ye, and enter without fear”.

Our fathers went on pilgrimage to reach this holy city,

A pure white shining citadel beyond decay.

In hope to reach eternity, they made their way,

With prayers in many tongues, and oaths to say.

Some came in peace, some came in holy war

They shared a sacred dream,

Some thing, for them, worth fighting for.

Thousands fought and thousands died

And thousands more will fight and die

To hold this land.  Many have tried

To find a way of peace, but many lie

And will lie again. I ask you why?

When you believe that God is on your side

You do not count the dead, or lose your pride.

We look over his shoulder

For a dream that we hope to come real

A place of love and beauty, peaceful games,

A place with magnetism, a serene appeal,

Where conflicts end in happy resolution.

But all these hopes are turned to desperation,

The darkness spreading higher on the hill,

As war threatens death to every nation.

Christian, Moslem, Arab, Jew,

The jealous God that was just for you

Can change his mind, adding new revelation.

Acceptance might transform your indignation.

Please set aside the gun and bomb,

Or I fear the end of days will come,

Jerusalem itself will be no more.

The breathless child Lear left behind

Escaping into nonsense or fine birds

And pastoral landscapes of this remarkable kind,

Where life becomes more real, less absurd,

And men sit silently, no words

Upon their lips. Perhaps his promises had all been kept

Or maybe he has stood here, painting while he wept.