Tag Archives

The Aeneid

THE SILENCE OF THE MOON

David Selzer By David Selzer1 Comment2 min read4.2K views

For Gerald Kelly

 

In 1918 W.B. Yeats published

a set of metaphysical essays

on the nature of being and art:

PER AMICA SILENTIA DE LUNAE.

The first sentence of one of the essays

reads as follows: ‘We make out of the quarrel

with others, rhetoric, but of

the quarrel with ourselves, poetry’.

 

***

 

The school I attended had been founded

by Henry VIII – or, rather, his fixer,

Thomas Cromwell – from some of the riches

acquired through the Reformation of the Church

and the Dissolution of the Monasteries.

Such schools were focussed on the training of clerks,

and their medium of instruction was Latin.

 

Some centuries later the Latin set text

we studied was Book II of Virgil’s AENEID,

in which the Greeks emerge from the wooden horse

to ravage the sleeping city of Troy

‘per amica silentia de lunae’,

in the friendly silence of the moon.

 

***

 

Despite the title the essays make no mention

of the ten-year siege of Troy or its fall.

Perhaps the title was to please his patroness,

Lady Gregory, another with

mystical leanings – for, like her, Yeats

believed in the divinity of the moon.

 

The Prologue to the essays was written

in May 1917. Yeats writes

of walking with a friend the summer before

in Calvados, Normandy, and how

the ideas in the essays were forming then.

Curious that a poet who could write

about ‘the foul rag and bone shop of the heart’

makes no mention in prose of the young men

dead and dying on the Western Front

a couple of hundred miles away.

‘…out of our quarrels…’

 

 

SOME CORNER OF A FOREIGN FIELD

‘”…you…will not enjoy their coming. War, fierce war,
I see: and the Tiber foaming with much blood…”‘
The Sybil from Virgil’s Aeneid, Book 6, lines 86–88

 

We found the grave by chance – stopping in Warwick
on our journey south. What drew us in
always beckons: the sad purposefulness,
the dark evergreens – towering larch, spruce, pine –
old graves, their lettering past pollution
almost erased, askew with ivy, moss,
lichen, the shadows of stories, echoes –
‘In Memory of Hannah Louise,
beloved wife of John Freeman, died
aged 21, April 1919
and Irene Louise, died aged 5 months,
December 1918′ – echoes, stories…

Although he died in 1998,
his is a military headstone, a
war grave marker – with John Enoch Powell,
his dates, his army rank, his offices.
Behind his stone, facing his back, as it were,
are ten genuine second world war graves,
paraded five by five: two Germans, a Pole,
an Italian, the rest British including
a woman – driver, stoker, able seaman,
sapper, engineer, assorted squaddies.
He was buried in his Brigadier’s
uniform, the Warwickshires’ emblem,
an antelope, carved in the Portland stone.
On the grave is a bunch of plastic flowers
and a handwritten note in Ancient Greek.

A Brummie, born next to a railway cutting,
he was a truly renaissance man: poet,
scholar, classicist, polyglot, soldier,
orator, equestrian, politician,
contrarian, tribalist, bigot.

He suffered survivor’s guilt. ‘I should have liked,’
he said on Desert Island Disks, ‘to have
been killed in the war,’ and wrote that soldiers
like him – a boffin, a desk wallah
who had not served in the frontline carried
‘a sort of shame with them to the grave.’

One of his poems begins ‘When I am gone,
remember me…’ seemingly addressed
to his mother. After marriage he published
no more poems but wrote one for each
of their wedding anniversaries.
His wife buried the forty or so with him.

‘When I am gone, remember me, not often,
but when the east grey light is growing.’
By happenstance, a word he would have used,
he is leading forever northwards his
motley squad of the dead.

 

 

Note: Another poem about Enoch Powell – ONLY ONE IN STEP – was first published on the site in 2010: https://davidselzer.com/2010/04/only-one-in-step/