The crack of fiercely hit squash balls
Woke me from my blackout so that I started
Like one woken from a deep sleep
Or like some unfortunate commuter
Rising to the call of alarm-clock Britain;
Once on my feet I steadied myself
And saw from an illuminated sign
That I had been borne to a place called
Valley, though it more resembled a ditch;
The place thundered with endless wailing
Which issued from the Sports Hall, but when I
Put my face to the glass, I discerned nothing,
For it was all steamed up with sweat;
‘It’s time to begin our descent into the
Blind world below,’ said Berrigan, his face
All pale, and I, who saw his complexion,
For even his beard could not hide it, asked
‘How will I cope, when even you’re afraid,
Who art wont to be my strength in doubt?’
And he spoke back: ‘It’s the misery of the
Fuck-ups here below which paints my face with
That pity which you mistake for fear;
Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow
Of Death, I shall fear no evil – for I am
A lot more insane than this Valley.
Now, let’s get moving, the journey is long.’
He stepped forward then, leading the way for me,
Towards our next port of call. As we advanced
Along a straight track, no wailing could be heard,
Only the sound of sighs coming from
A vast car park, where none of the vehicles
Could be moved for all had been clamped,
Sighs that rose from grief without torment.
Berrigan then said: ‘If you want to know
What kind of souls these are that surround you,
I’ll let you in on their secret: they are all
Essex Alumni, Honorary PhDs,
And retired academics: here they live
Forever, but because they have left the
University,
they are forever
Deprived of their departments.
Without hope, they live on in desire.
There’s a joke going round campus which sums
Up their plight: “Academics never retire,
They just lose their faculties.”’
‘My God,’ I said, ‘you mean they’re stuck here
Forever in Limbo? Are there none that
Manage to get away from here?’
‘Not many,’ he said, ‘but occasionally,
When the VC raises the retirement age,
Say, you hear of a lucky few
Who find re-employment in one of our
Partner Colleges: Colchester Institute,
University Campus Suffolk, Writtle College.’
We didn’t stop to dawdle while we spoke
But made our way onwards, past a wood.
We had not gone far from where I woke
When I made out a fire burning up ahead,
Which lit up a hemisphere in the darkness.
We were still some distance from it,
But we were close enough for me to begin
To make out some of the shades up there.
‘Berrigan,’ I said, ‘who are these souls
Who seem to occupy some place of special
Honour, set apart from the rest?’
And Berrigan, my guide: ‘Their honoured
Names, which still resound in the world of
The living, gain them favour here.
They are poets who once taught here,
Or studied, rare souls,
who had the gift of sabi.’
And as he talked I heard a voice exclaim:
‘Honour the poet of the New York School!
His shade returns that was departed!’
As the voice fell silent, I saw eight
Shades step towards us, with an aspect
Neither sad nor joyful.
The good master began: ‘Mark him
With the Havana cigar clenched in his teeth,
Who walks steadily at the head of the pack,
That’s Robert Lowell, the illustrious poet,
Who was once a professor here, in the
70s; the next, just behind him, is
The satirist, Ed Dorn; then look, that stately
Figure with the handlebar moustache is
Tom Raworth, who wrote his Logbook
When he was here, but of course, you’ve met them;
Next is Doug Oliver, who descended into
The caves at Winnats Pass to write his epic;
Behind him there’s Elaine Feinstein,
Jeremy Reed, who was a student here,
Tony Lopez and Kelvin Corcoran.’
As we drew level with them, they came
To greet Berrigan, and after they had
Talked a while, they turned towards me,
Welcoming me with a gesture, and when
I turned to gaze at Berrigan I saw him smile.
We walked together,
Talking of this and that, until we reached
The boundary of a splendid villa,
Set in a sweet vale all by itself.
It was circled by a security fence,
Bounded by woodland and a clear lake,
And once we had passed through seven
Surveillance gates, like those at Stansted,
We stepped onto a brightly lit lawn.
On it were shades with eyes slow
And grave; they were of great authority
In their demeanour, speaking slowly,
With mild voices. Then moving to one side
In unison, to where the cocktails were
Being handed out, we stepped onto a
Raised veranda, from where they could all be seen.
From this vantage point, as he lit a cigarette,
Berrigan pointed out the illustrious
Shades who peopled the verdant pasture.
There was Charles Leatherland, standing with a group,
Amongst whom was Óscar Arias, the
Nobel Prize Winner, and Dimitrij Rupel,
Foreign Minister of Slovenia.
I saw too Virginia Bottomley,
John Bercow and Siobhain McDonagh,
And when I looked up a little I saw
The master of thought, Simon Critchley,
Chatting away with his philosophical crowd,
Who were hanging on his every word;
I spotted, too, Richard Bartle and Roy
Trubshaw, co-creators of the Multi-User
Dungeon, MUD1, and Rodolfo Vela,
Mexico’s first astronaut; then, cracking jokes,
In a way that made them stand out from the crowd,
I saw Nick Broomfield and Mike Leigh, Stephen
Daldry, Lucy Ellmann and Ben Okri,
Who won the Booker Prize.
I can’t paint them all in full, as they deserve,
My theme is long, and many times the words
Must fall short of the reality.
The company of ten diminishes to two.
Berrigan leads me by another path,
Out of the quiet, into the trembling air.
I come to a part where there is no light.