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leviathan

WAITING FOR LEVIATHAN

‘True’ and ‘false’ are attributes of speech, not of things. And where speech is not, there is neither ‘truth’ nor ‘falsehood’.  LEVIATHAN, Thomas Hobbes

 

What better place to wait than on a balcony

facing east! Below are a narrow road,

a short promenade and two tidal inlets

divided by a jut of rock of ages –

jagged, steadfast! And what better day!

 

No sooner has the Haredi family –

who are renting the house on the headland –

finished bathing: females in one inlet

and males in the other – than a car arrives

with three male Jehovah’s Witnesses,

who sit on a bench overlooking the sea,

having set up a folding notice board,

and talk to each other, sometimes laughing.

 

And, not very long after they have gone,

a large, extended family of Muslims,

some of the women wearing hijabs, appears.

They are led by a man in late middle age.

He takes the whole party of twenty or so

away from the beach and up a track

and out of sight onto pastureland –

then he leads them back down, and this time

onto the shore where he has them pose,

with some difficulty, for a selfie.

 

Later, there is only the tides’ drift; the rise

and fall of seaweed on the jutting rocks;

a pair of cormorants flying westwards;

the dusk dimming the light on the sea;

the night falling slowly, uneasily.

Perhaps Leviathan is no more.

He was still alive in the Book of Job

where ‘Out of his nostrils goeth smoke,’

but in the Book of Isaiah God

‘with his sore…great…strong sword shall punish

Leviathan the piercing serpent…

he shall slay the dragon that is in the sea’.

Perhaps God is dead, and the beast came ashore

in the darkness while I was sleeping –

and, in my dreams, I mistook as lightning

its napalm breath, as thunder its bunker bombs,

as a flock of gulls rising in alarm

Gaza’s children screaming…

 

 

 

THE TARRY WHALE

There were two wonders in our provincial town

on the cindery car park by the river

when I was seventeen – both August marvels.

 

First was the Century Theatre,

with its proper post war worthiness,

touring each year the north and the midlands

from the Five Towns to West Hartlepool

in three bespoke aluminium trailers

pulled by an ex-army Crossley tractor.

The same actress played Jimmy Porter’s

Alison, Sally Bowles and Elena

Ivanova Popova in ‘The Bear’.

I was struck – by the stage, the moon and love.

 

Next, on a seventy foot flat-bed truck,

was a dead fin-back whale harpooned

off Trondheim, preserved in formaldehyde

and painted with tar. It toured through the north

surreally as ‘Jonah the Whale’ as if

the rabbit foot had become the rabbit.

It lay like an elongated accident.

For a shilling you could get up close

and see the dead eye and the once olive

striated skin blackened with tar – and smell,

despite the preservatives, the corruption.

 

Better was the view from the city walls.

Where there had been outrageous laughter was beached

that solitary, dark leviathan.