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*Presence
Good morning Mr Marvell.
I sit close to you in St Giles Church today.
Near where your gutsy plaque is on display,
written by your great nephew in 1764.
It tells of the 'uncorrupt probity of your
life'
'an asserter of the liberties of
Great stuff.
But tell us, you wily statesman, glorious
poet,
was there peace beyond the line?
The argumentative subjunctive,
the 'yets' and 'buts'
the vigour is just fine:
a force that seems to drive
the sanity and balance of your mind.
Flip to the sensual frenzy and headlong speed
of 'To My Coy Mistress'
and all that voluptuous melancholy.
Come on, did she fall for your cordiality,
you elegant and witty libertine?
(sorry Mr Marvell, but I'm asking the questions
today.)
Or did life teach you prudence and
dissembling?
Was your curve of feeling true?
Your pestering, bantering, audacious style,
transfusing indifference with necessity.
Your boundless curiosity, discontent and
optimism:
in your poems your chosen people,
victims of your scholar's pen,
are always on the run. The House of Commons 'a
beast not to be understood'.
Right on.
And how did you keep your head
playing both sides of the Civil War?
Was it your vivid truth that brought you
through?
Your words as near to action as any words can
be,
did a hidden magic keep your spirit free?
The sermon's over.
We're praying for our leaders.
Spot on.
Liz Callingham