802
In the Mrican silence of this room.
Shall I unroll a map? There are rumors
That all cities are fires dropped from the sky
In a curious geography of wars:
This shaded portion of the map was Pharos:
The gods no longer walk there.
PARTISAN REVIEW
And across the water
The grape withers and runs over
A mound of thistled grass, and look, the Pillar
Of Cestius is a pyramid of smoke.
There is nothing here
That the wind cannot blow away, except the harbors,
Except in the deeper forests perhaps
A cave.
If
you look too closely, the map is
Like a lecture at a museum
That no one cares to hear. Is that shadow still
Wandering behind the clock? Even as you leave the room,
It is still a temporal hour:
It is excellent weather for a holiday.
George Barker
FROM "THE TRUE CONFESSION
OF GEORGE BARKER"
o
Bishop Andrews, Bisho-p Berkeley,
John Peale Bishop and Bishop's Park,
I see through my ego darkly
But all that I perceive is dark:
Episcopally illuminate
My parochial testaments
And with your vestal vested vestments
Tenderly invest my state.
