THE POETRY COLLECTIONS: FROM THE HERMIT'S HOUSE

FROM THE HERMIT'S HOUSE

BY BARRY VAN-ASTEN

2010 

The concept of a series of poems put into a first collection entitled ‘From the Hermit’s House’ occurred to me in the early nineties, but time passed without its realisation and there it remained in a dark recess of my mind. It wasn’t until later, in early 1997 in fact, when I was an undergraduate at Froebel College, Roehampton that the thought re-surfaced. Having been quietly asked to remove myself from College Halls as a disturbing influence, I took a place in a particular part of central London and there I built my hermitage, where I was a complete outsider in a community to which I did not exist – a butterfly amongst the tarantulas! There I immersed myself in my studies, played chess and the guitar, read novels and wrote poetry and studied and practiced the esoteric arts, namely ceremonial magic in the form of Goetic evocations! My mind was purposely divided into separate personalities as a psychological experiment, one of which was the debauched Lucian Taylor, a character from Arthur Machen’s novel ‘The Hill of Dreams’, who haunted the seedier side of London’s nightlife! There I sat as Saint and sinner pursuing magick having taken a great oath; it was a time of fantastic self discovery, of terrible hardship and of enormous gain!

The collection is a slight departure from my previous volumes in that there is no theme, only a random placing of poems which perhaps doesn’t work as well as I would like. The poem ‘There’s something there’ was originally written for my Ghost Blooms collection which was mostly composed from 1996-1998 and published in 2009, but it didn’t seem to fit in. There are also some very early poems in this collection such as: ‘In the sea wind’, ‘Murdo McCain’, ‘Animals, insects and friends’, ‘Your image’ and ‘Parting’.

 

Barry Van-Asten. London. 2010.

 

IN MY FATHER'S CHAIR

Watchful gaze upon the clock;
Dawn's light sieves the speckled air,
To and froing the vastness,
In my father's chair.

Sun in its glory,
Worshipping the morning's altar,
Fills the space where he was there...
In the corner the darkness withers
As I watch from my father's chair.

Fingers, softly stroking
And toying with tumbled hair...
Why has sadness left me
In my father's chair?


GOD, I HAVE SAID AWFUL THINGS

Not for the ceremonies of each day
Do I ring with wrongs, and look away;
Away to where a forgiving light
Brings comfort to the solitude of night.
And I will not take the sacred word
As just another lie, unheard,
For there is love and peace of mind
If we only had the will to find
The blessed wisdom which is more than
All the complexities found in man!
And as the world so ancient sings,
Still God, I say awful things...
But is forgiveness blindly given
To those who choose the path of Heaven?
Is love's becoming on this plane,
Gloriously born and filled with pain,
Spread across a simple earth
To show what human love is worth?
Yet, there must be some immortal star
To make us awful! What we are
Is nothing more than broken beams
Of light destroyed in tearful dreams;
Perfect voids to comprehend
The might of God! And when worlds' end,
The might of Man in man's mild voice
Will shake and tremble and rejoice!


NATASHA

I gazed through the half-open window
In the dimmed afternoon;
And sombre, my heart set me dreaming
As I paced from room to room.

I saw the sun-scorched lawn,
And thought: the rain will come soon.
The frogs lay screaming in a dry pond
And the cat was securing their doom!

But I'll soon send words to Natasha -
Ballads to a baleful moon...
But this house, still gripped by ghosts
Keeps my love from its first bloom!


THE LITTLE HOUSE IN THE WOODS

There was a man lived in a house
Made of graveyard bones!
'But bones decay: Why not use clay? '
A young girl said, 'and maybe sticks and stones? '
'Arhh, but these 'ere bones remind me that
This life on earth shall end.
For see, I took an axe to each;
Yes, mortal trees, for each one was my friend! '
And so the little girl was slain
In a most undignified way:
'How dare you say: 'use sticks and stones',
I will not! I say, use sticks and stones and clay! '
So he stripped her skin down to the bone
Which he placed in a pot, to boil;
This he would use to fill the cracks
Where wind whistled all the while!
The bones would mend his chimney stack
And the head he would keep, for he said:
'She has nice lips and eyes and hair...
Yes, all things nice, to keep me warm in bed! '


THERE'S SOMETHING THERE
For Laura

I'm an elegant sod, a chemical savant:
We're killers in flared jeans.
We are beautiful
When we're cutting worlds in half.

We strained through glass canons
At the moon that night.
Love was cremated in the hollows -
We're never safe to be around.

Drowning our Northern sorrows,
Stalking through the bars...
Below the surface we are far
From thinking kind things. We laugh,

And together we shuffle through our thoughts -
What has suddenly come between us?
Why this change in you and me?
But speechless, we sat and smoked in sequence.

Now, our dreams have come to nothing,
And my strategy, in its flawed process
Has collapsed by the stone steps
Where we are beautiful, once again.


BETHARNU

This animal life is governed by time
And I hath loved and dared to know
Why the soldier in my soul lies still;
Why my eyes are spun with sorrow now.
I hath touched upon forbidden things:
Things mysterious and things dreadful...I go,
Unto the ache of Osiris, for Isis, sighing
In depths measureless, to love thee, Betharnu!

What fiend has cast this awful spell?
What darkness pass'd through halls in chain
To stain thy beauty? - dare I pray
To she who gives my heart to pain?
This vivid substance, this mortal clay
Thrown unto her smooth embrace...
She breathed and the ghost of things unsaid
Remained silent in the tomb of Betharnu!

Yet I saw her as she turned and glanced,
But not all as I thought her to be,
For I saw the tormented maid of Sidon
Still grasping at immortality.
In her eyes - the bearded face of Christ,
As she whispered: O heavy heart,
Why dost thou lieth strange and far
In dreamless destinies of love? - O Betharnu,

I hath savoured thy kisses in regions drear;
I hath glimpsed thine ecstasies from afar;
I hath sung the sweet rapture of thy heart
To rest easy in thy idyll. O perfect star,
Through my immeasurable shame and woe,
'Twas ever unto thee, my love...
Through my wanderings from thy true desires -
'Twas ever unto thee, Betharnu!

In length, a witch; an Egyptian relic
Still hovering in her prime;
Wrapt in her linen moth wings,
Beyond all reason and time.
Yet I was drawn to the soft, sensual heights:
Yea! was darkness in light filled with grace!
And amidst the scent of flesh and irises,
Overpowered - we kissed! O Betharnu,

I hath dwelt amongst ungodly things:
Drawn death from darkness - life from light;
I hath roamed in wickedness and greatly sinned
To bring this vision of love to sight.
Viewless in vistas, yet I stray
'Twixt the darkness that falleth on thy lips
And the tears that falleth from thy light
That is ever in my heart, thy name, Betharnu!

Yet her veins pulse, not with the heart
And here was dawn and dusk caressed;
Light unto the dark's damnation
When her lips to mine, were gently pressed.
But remember me in the songs, she said,
The songs thou adorest by night.
But thou art light, I said, to my darkness,
Doomed always to love thee, the light!


THESE WRETCHED FEELINGS

These wretched feelings I conjure
Only darkens the soul with regret;
This requiem; this Rubicon of rue -
These wretched feelings! I conjure
Sadness in eyes so blue,
Wanting more than this, to forget
These... wretched feelings I conjure
Only darkens the soul with regret!


ON SEEING A PICTURE OF HERMIA & LYSANDER BY JULIUS SIMMONS. 1870

In these nocturnal woods, my heart finds
The sacred light of a forgiving sun -
Her radiance through the wild boughs, winds
To the dark beauty of unending woman.
But what difference drives her delicate skin
Over life's complexities, to my arms again?

Her name repeats upon the wind
And I hear secrets in the leaves
That whisper on the branches, thinned
By summer's sedate way, that weaves
Colossal dreams from far away,
To echo over streams, and stray

In the dread fields of eternity...
But the heart's unearthly song will come
From its haunted arcadia by the sea,
Pausing in the heather, broken and dumb,
To magnify love's timeless art
Caught in the confines of her heart!


IN THE SEA WIND

By the bay, she was standing, standing,
Her lips were seeking words to say;
And beneath the bright moon, shining, shining,
The love within our hearts would stay.

And on the sand, tread softly, softly,
We kissed and wandered hand in hand,
With fleeting hearts, beating, beating,
That beautiful night, upon the sand.

Then I heard the sea wind, laughing, laughing;
Felt its corrosive, tempest stringed
Like a mad viol, bowing, bowing:
My heart violined - our souls un-twinned!

And in the sea wind, shouting, shouting,
Her voice across the bay struck me;
And so I strolled out, gently, gently,
Into the black waves of the sea.

There in the darkness, waiting, waiting,
My lover stood as midnight bloomed
All around her, winding, winding -
She swooned as that dread sea entombed

Our hearts - I know that sometime, sometime...
I love the sea, the wind and you!
But her eyes were full of moonlight, moonlight,
Beneath a mournful sea of blue!


MURDO McCAIN AND THE CURIOUS WART

Murdo McCain
Had a curious wart,
Not a normal wart,
But a curious wart.
Smack, bang centre
In the middle of his chin,
And when shaving
He'd cover it
Before he'd begin!
It grew and it grew
And his doctor said:
In a week or two
He would be dead!
So he dipped it in honey
And trimmed it with lace -
He was proud of his strange,
Little curious wart face!
But it grew and it grew
All over the place;
It grew at such an
Alarming pace:
All over his chest, and
All down his back -
It turned his hands
And feet, quite black!
It grew and it grew
Till there was no trace
Of Murdo McCain's strange,
Little curious wart face!


HE, IN THE WISTFUL AIR

He, in the wistful air,
Turned away like sheets, twisting,
And still our love was inward, pressing...
As our hearts in displaced care
Made each his own cell, silent, wishing
That two souls so dark and rare
And so in love, would sing:
O lucky his bed now, I thought
And lucky his numbing smile to me.


TOMORROW, THE SUN
A.R.M.

Tomorrow, the sun will shine
And look upon our hearts, as we
Build together, a sacred place
To consecrate our love upon;
A secret bower in a garden
Where roses sweet in fragrance grow...
A sunlit pool where we may linger
And share the happiness that we show.

And you, my dear, my vision of love;
My angel, how our passion has become
A serenade and seduction that yields
To the bright dawn of another day,
Where the wonder of two souls can see
The beginning and the end, as one!

I adore you lips, my May morn Queen
And the wilderness that lies between
The passion and soft touch, where we
As one true spirit for eternity,
Peer lovingly into the unknown,
Guided by someone we know...

And still, with tears in your eyes, we kissed
And explored the strength of love between us!
And I will follow you into the light, I said,
Into the magical world that you create,
For it is you, my love, my love it is you...
It is you, and I won't leave you, for we are one,
For every tomorrow and every sun!


SOMETHING UNFINISHED

No god and no perfection...
Three pilgrims we, our course was set;
We climbed the hill without distraction
To worship the oak tree and circle it.
And beneath its ancient limbs we stood:
The joy upon your face was gold!
But what echoes of time within that wood
Were bound within that tree of old?


ROSE

I found her features to be, old turds and diamonds

With hate in her eyes and a heart that had died,
Our lady of matrimony knows,
That all men hide from their feelings inside
And apart from their shoes, nothing shows!

Rose, Rose, like the nose that she blows,
Runs away with herself and her pride;
Rose, dear Rose, how the memory grows
And the phantoms of love swiftly glide.

Life had been cruel to her - pearls before swine!
Where once something went - nothing goes!
Now she sits to the chime of the gradual decline
Of Rose, old Roman-nosed Rose!

She counted the men she had loved on her fingers;
Who knelt down on one knee to propose!
On each finger - a ring! the memory lingers:
When she ran out of fingers she put them on toes!

Years came and years passed, still she cast men aside
And what she will do - Heaven knows!
With no more proposals to make her a bride
And no space on her fingers and toes!

They buried poor Rose, 'twas a simple affair,
As simple as dignity shows;
Yet it took sixteen men to lower her coffin
With the weight of her fingers and toes!


ANIMALS, INSECTS AND FRIENDS

Thundering hooves on pleasant walks;
Flowing robes and staring eyes;
Misty breath, swirling and turning
The morning-hungry countryside.

That wretched root still choking -
Dew: silvery-light and mirror-like,
Crushed beneath her dainty step
Where others fear to tread.

Twisted branches, heavy and broken,
Clutter and defend ancient pathways;
Stones, smooth, where the river bends:
Animals, insects and friends.



NOTHING DEAD IS HERE

'My child', said a stranger, 'come into my tomb,
There are lots to see and do in here, and fairies light the gloom;
There are tigers and dragons, and unicorns to ride,
There are pink baboons and elephants: but nothing here has died!
Do come into my little room, my door is open wide!

And so the child, he entered in, and what a big surprise!
The stranger had not told the truth, in fact, it was all lies!
He shut the door and took the child and bound him round with chains;
Then took a spoon from round his neck and feasted on his brains.
He sucked upon his little eyes, and laughed like dirty drains!

'That will teach you, foolish child! ' said the stranger, weird,
As he sat picking little bits of brain from out his beard!
'Now let me say this one more time, for I'll make one thing clear:
This tomb may be a tomb, my friend, but nothing dead is here!
Must I repeat my every word? Nothing dead is here! '


THE BUTTERFLY

O secret or symphony -
I know its heart too well;
Sweet sovereign of life's mystery,
Your silence cannot tell
What difference this is, parts you and I
Or what spirit takes you far away.

Will this love immense, never fade;
Could my heart but love you less?
I have seen your fiery wings displayed
To summer's silver light caress;
Serene, unfolds, and flits away
And blessed to live another day.

I'll say I'll seek its beauty,
To hear its sealed heart sigh
Through the long, lone summer,
Wherever its soft wings lie.
And passions fleeting in vain, will chase,
Though never mar nor seize its grace.

Since then in my remembering
Its sad and sable flush,
Fate, in its surrendering,
Steals by a pale moon's crush
Where the frailness of the butterfly
Unknowing strength - must die!


YOUR IMAGE

Your image, painful and unsteady,
Caught by the curve of dawn's light;
And not thinking, I whispered your name
As the fragrance of you fired my thoughts.

And your name, like a beautiful bird
Flew from my still and simple breast
Into the sad swirls and mournful hours
As I stood, like a silver cage, waiting...

But why does my tired heart sing so sweet
Like a slow waltz in everlasting dream?
These beating rhythms rise and fall, in vain,
Only to disappear at end of day...

Cornfields compressed and coppices bare;
Morning mist on water, curls,
Wheeling behind the blue hills, where
The moon is quietly sliding...

But your image, still vague and calm -
Yesterday's ghost in the mist again...
And you don't know what it costs for me
To live in the light with your image!


PARTING

Animated from the deep-rooted sentence
To take some half-glanced-at look
At your slowly turning heard. I said:
There is no need for us to end like this!

And I made some silly cold stare
Appear more than it was ever supposed.
I wanted to hold you in my arms and make
All those hurt feelings disappear...stay here!

For each day will see me twice as old,
Still heavy with decisions that I cannot make.
And the growth of time creeps always onwards
Into corner cracks and cold stairways,
Powered by desires more than mine...

Then suddenly, your hand slipped
From my tight goodbye,
And I wanted to say more than this,
But when it came to it I just said
All the wrong things and nothing else!

And I was silent as I watched you go
Into the arms of somewhere new.
And I thought: this is horrible, because I know
Nothing will mean more than how you mean to me now;
Nothing will replace the love my heart did not show!


THE PASSION AND THE PRAYER

What occupant beats beside a lover's brain?
Who hears the whispers of the past?
It is the old world that comes again
With dreams, softly as a ghost,

Creeping from the thresholds beckoning,
Breezing in and out of age...
As Death's ticking knuckle is hammering
Unseen shapes of fantastic rage!

And through the night the flesh did sing,
Touched by unseen hands in the dark
That showed only the nothingness in everything,
Like a dead candle lit by a spark!

A brief pause in the rail of change
That strays over time as some star,
Where we are but mannequins in the strange
Laws that govern what we are;

Drawn like some architect worm to the cell
Where the suspended pulses of our way,
Rot, inside the timeless shell
That carries our decay.

Through the passing of tiresome years,
The blue-veined curve of sleep's release
Is sickened by the sound of tears
Where the activities of the dead don't cease!

For love has stirred some unseen rite
Amongst the shadows of the lost;
Steered some wanderer from the night
That won't relinquish the world as host,

To flow from out the tomb and grin,
And break a body with deceit,
For science and atomic faith won't win
When the passion and the prayer's complete!

What ague has surfaced from the unknown
To blow like leaves through viewless space
From depths to mingle moan with moan,
Always returning to this place?

Where I mourn a prayer that won't be heard
For a love I cannot have,
That hungers for the passionate word
And all that transpires in the grave.