HEXHAM HEADS
BY BARRY VAN-ASTEN
2011
The Poems in this my fourth collection have a somewhat ‘confessional’ aspect; they are the lost cries echoing in the wilderness of an overwhelming longing for love! A resonant call before the universe which is chanted by a determined magical expression – ‘she will come; come when all the woods are winding down’; an ancient turbulence within the physical form that begins to overshadow the spiritual dimension – ‘something has hold of me, something/ which is now taking its course’. There is conflict with the spirit as nature reveals herself and the landscape, littered with historical monuments that withstand ‘the tide of banal change’; where ‘all the shadows of the world/ hold opportunity and doom’.
The title ‘Hexham Heads’ refers to a werewolf legend of which no more needs to be said! The curious will indeed find out for themselves if it is ‘written in the stars’ that they should know! There are some early poems here such as: ‘Something’, ‘Unreachable now’, ‘In Afterthought’ and ‘Six moons of Abramelin’ which were all ‘born’ during the time of the first collection ‘Ghost Blooms’ in draft form (1994-1999). The poem ‘A Seashore Ceremony’ celebrates a pagan hand-fasting ritual performed by myself and my wife-to-be on Brighton Beach in 2003. ‘Venta Belgarum’ was written in reflection of my first camping holiday with my wife in Winchester and a visit to its Cathedral. During one of our adventures in Scotland we wild-camped near to Boleskine Cemetery which is overlooked by Aleister Crowley’s old magical abode on the shores of Loch Ness, Boleskine House – I was inspired to write there the poem ‘At Boleskine’. It can be seen that the magical invocation for love was answered and that one lost soul became two lost souls which became two rare souls deeply in love and very happy!
Barry Van-Asten. London. 2011.
UNREACHABLE NOW
Too late in the forest, sunken and dumb,
Unable to penetrate beyond the track
Where fallen leaves and dead things are burying
A universe of footprints in the Anglo-Saxon muck.
I thought: here, there's always been a space
And nobody knew why she came and said:
So you find somebody in these woods
Where only the march of death remains.
And yes, I'd say nothing, for she will come;
Come when all the woods are winding down.
And I'll say into the woods, (I'll whisper) -
I will not go again into that unknown!
VENTA BELGARUM
We stood within that great cog of Christianity,
Hushed by its history, thick as honey...
The tapestry of faith hung heavy, in the Quire;
A walled mystery concealed by doctrine and desire.
Here, a revolution of thought, a battle of will
Echoes through time...and blood through veins
No longer flows on Magdalene Hill.
All things remain: the Itchen, the City Mill,
The College and the Pilgrim's Hall...
Sad to see wind chimes beside a grave:
The song of nature, unto a child, caught
In the soft moving of words, wind-sighing,
Sung in a dead dialect of thought!
From Morn Hill we marched on the South Downs;
The rain tore into us like Flanders' lead.
In the Cathedral, the shade of St Swithin
Sweeps over the stones...and Jane Austen
Frowned, as the crypt emptied its dead!
In the Deanery Garden we sat and gasped
At the measure of change; of people and places.
We climbed St Giles's Hill and paused on the past:
A medieval monster; a great limb of faith
Withstanding the tide of banal change
That consumed a way of life, forever lost!
Winchester.
SOMETHING
Something has hold of me, something
Which is now taking its course -
Several degrees away from finding
The intricate meaning of love.
O sing for me songs of the forest;
O sing for me songs of the plough...
A lyrical language of love, transfixed,
Is sublime and seared strange now.
And she gives my troubled heart to calm;
The dark aspect of affection, unfolds
The workings of a delicate universe...
Inventing reasons still to care -
Telepathy words in the beauty of thought!
But something stirring in the depth of dream:
A labyrinth of light on my heart... I ran
And was running away from the world again...
But there must be something to believe in;
Something to activate a space for feeling?
Something has hold of me, something
Which is now taking its course.
PRUNES AND PARALLELOGRAMS
To see beyond this veil of stuff
And glimpse the things that I once saw;
To feel the same strange formlessness
Weave its way and create once more.
To mourn loss in this world of skin;
To keep a name close to the heart;
To shine a light in the darkness;
To feel the hurt inside depart.
And all the shadows of the world
Hold opportunity and doom.
The sensual rhythm of our bodies
Are linked by silence in a room;
Linked by the great things and by change,
Kept under the eye of shame's face;
A mind distilled to movement's music
And then fragmented into space.
LILITH TO ASMODEUS
Struck, by the bornless core of man;
Serpent of doubt and drab dimension;
Bruised bowel of blasphemy, curled anew
And shaped fourfold to our reality and cosmic law:
A crucible wronged - per vas nefandum;
Kteis, let me love thy contour once more.
A uraeus of nature's unleashed force;
The brain beginnings channel electric
Moods of night...the mind is stomping
Over flesh, foretelling the equinox of woman.
Shaitan courses earth-wards, His unholy malevolence:
A union by rite of Lingam damnation
Swathed in Ararat silk, and artful - our Lord.
The Hierophant and the Star...
Design and deliberation - bleed
Astrological systems releasing: blind force!
Bones, beautiful bones, I thought.
Kundalini collapse by the fold of coffins,
Cold in the grave, where pulpit geraniums
Are nectar and neutral apparatus in the soul, new born.
Radiant with laughter, Achille's sister, the seashell,
Quim-swelled for feasting, and jewelled
Under the night stars, evoking...
Pan, Pamphage, Pangenetor!
In asphodel gardens, a human-beast lurking
Slumps and splutters over the dreaded Goetia,
And Power Words vibrate those ancient shells
And darkness, damned once more to rule
The decay of this spinning speck of a world.
IN HER REMARKS
When the blossom came, I noticed
Only half a tree had bloomed,
And a cavity showed me more than
The geometry of skull;
Through an opening, asteroids flew
And fired those scarab eyes still.
An Atlas, impaled in the cornfields
Surrounded by bird forms and iron gates:
An on/off receiver of white noise;
A device for scrying the airwaves.
And I saw, within a room
A hurried ghost had come to view,
With its motions steered by planets
Whistling through the here and now;
An inner chamber, of silk in winter blue,
Where a woman sat gazing down
Towards her triangled desire,
Where her dress had creased to the moon.
But nearby, and unable to sleep,
Stinking Death and spinster Brunnhilde
Turned to weep at the decay
And tangle of the tenanted tomb.
In her eyes, something's not done,
These opera ghosts had drawn from the room
All the passions and pains of a life,
Like a kingfisher waltz,
Wasted before her sighs,
Making a Troy of her thoughts.
I heard her say: 'I don't feel this pain;
I don't know of this world's time.
I worship the solemnity within
And the stillness around'.
In the air - mummy dust,
Penetrates the smell of afterall,
And among the tombs and groves
That brings you down towards a stone sun,
Where a filmy mist hangs low
On a landscape changed for evermore:
Glooms of terrific sleep that fall
Dead and form - Egyptian death,
Grim and hoping to blood-in.
An undertaker's palate clicked
In the dry, immovable air.
The elements had plundered, dead from dead,
Yet he was more dead than they were.
Over a dry stone wall, by a tree-lined path:
Solomon's seal in a green moon's gaze,
As ancient as time's rays cast
From the depths of black rage, at those
Terrible trials - I could not register
Nor comprehend the shapes drawn
From the mind:
The ritual of summer;
The marble halls -
The words remembered...
The dark sacrifices recalled,
Where thy ghosted gaze on me, awoke -
A Beatrice of perfection; a Persephone of desire...
And Judas shall sleep, sleep, sleep,
When the flesh folds over itself in fear,
While outside, snoozing among the vines,
Displaying stigmata's to the sun,
Dreamt the so-called saviour - Jesus Christ,
Baptising everyone!
ISIS BLOSSOM
Vast, that starry abode of love,
Is an empire ruled by man's intrusion.
The ache of falsehood from above
Is death's complexion and delusion.
Captivated by Orion's pains,
This pyramid sealed, the corpse fiend fled
Into the darkness that contains
The Isis blossom and the dead;
Where Nephthy's black robe was blown wide
To reveal her ruby kiss of gold.
Yet sphinx-filled madness, there had died
In the ceremonies of old.
Tura - na ab - k am (1)
These lips are sweet and delicately veiled,
Crowned by a flaming diadem;
Where the new moon to the full moon sailed
Beyond the midnight khunt of Khem;
Beyond the shroud and the scarlet caress
Into the silence of the tomb, so deep,
To kiss the serpent-sighing darkness
And the gonging beat of man in sleep.
And in mourning the beloved...come, O come!
For here great sadness lies before
These cursed lips that hath been knocked dumb,
For Thou art the Goddess I adore!
Henen - a em Amsu. Auf - a Net. (2)
The rose of antiquity hath broke its stem,
And its scented glory hath all but given
Its blood to the ceremonial khunt of Khem
To shineth in the mask of Osiris risen.
And beneath the death-filled mercurial sky
The pyramid of Royal blood hath ran,
As the oracle crumbled with a sigh
To see the slain God's nemess fall on man!
A Anset. (3)
Notes:
1. I have purified myself and my heart is filled with joy.
2. Male: My phallus is that of Amsu. Female: My flesh is of Net.
3. Hail Isis.
A NIGHT PRAYER
Dark sentinel of the ways:
My heart has given to the strange;
This ache of sadness torments my days
When I am lost of all your change.
And sufferings in childhood, long ago,
Have returned to see me half as deep:
This longing haunts my spirit so
And time erodes that which I cannot keep.
But love, the force that broods my mind
From depths, the white palsy of despair...
Life's tapestry lies oft' handsome lined
In the soft curls and twilight of your hair;
To measure the lone tide whence you came
On moth wings that beat back an eternal sky;
The sweet cauldron kisses that flame
From lip to lip, and eye to eye.
And if I could in scented idyll dream
Of that perfection and that pain
That carries me on its silver stream
Of love: a prayer will join us once again.
IN ARCADIA
In the far-reaching night of Pan;
Suspended in the death-glance, half human...
From the black veil of devildom:
Wine - thy lips - mine saviour, come!
Thy ruby gaze is but a cloak;
Thy mouth, a murderous razor stroke!
Thy robe reveals thy glory, swift
As thy fleecy tread did shift
Between this Royal Art - O Phalle,
To linger long in lusts of Hell!
O goat-foot God, Thou art to me
Ever triumphant in Arcady!
And at the utterance of a word
By a lone voice on the summit, stirred
The reek of madness on thy breath -
The beauty of thy fleecy death!
Sky be our roof, grass be our floor:
May cool winds fan our passion once more!
Flesh - the flower of the forest,
Crushed beneath thy hoof of lust!
A SONG OF SEPTEMBER WOODS
Soft was your hand in my hand,
As your lips parted gentle, and red;
And our kisses were ecstasy, fanned
Beneath the bright moon of the dead;
Our embraces girdled a band, Veronique,
Beneath the bright moon of the dead!
And here the veil of long ago
Was drawn in the silvern surprise,
By fingers that flickered white as snow
Like the moonlight caught in your eyes...
And suddenly the song did grow, Veronique,
Like the moonlight caught in your eyes!
Silver-skirted, in the glade...
Your sweet lips towards September, flow
As your long pale legs dance in the shade
Where the light of moon fears to go -
You are ecstasy perfectly made, Veronique,
Where the light of moon fears to go!
All night in the woods, you danced -
I suffered your beauty, and sighed;
I was struck by your form and entranced,
O sweet maiden where moonlight just died;
And I stood for all time as I glanced, Veronique,
O sweet maiden where moonlight just died!
A SEASHORE CEREMONY
Our bodies purified to love; anointed
By our seven sacred seals:
Blessed by the glory of love that reveals the
Dreams within our hearts, we sadly wove.
And there upon the stones, a circle drawn. Four
Candles: north, east, south and west.
At the autumn equinox, love was blessed by
Midnight unto the eternal dawn!
By the seashore, we banish and invoke, to
The four quarters, by the light
Of Venus, summoned sevenfold by night, where
We sat in the circle, filled with smoke.
And a ribbon bound our hands together, like
Enchantment; a solemn prayer
Of love, that mingled with rose-incensed air, as
We kissed and joined our souls, for ever!
And the circle was banished.
And the candles extinguished
As a thick mist swept in from the sea...
And we gave thanks to the sea that
Witnessed our union!
The remains of the feast and the cardinal
Flowers and our sacred box containing
Hair and nail clippings were cast
Unto the tide!
IN AFTERTHOUGHT
S.W.
There is a certain mood of mind
In which the fount of youth, flows through
The stunning sacredness of you...
Met inescapably, I find:
Lit with lip-gloss and eyes of blue,
And all your beauty re-defined.
But somewhere deep there is this bliss;
This ache of madness that takes hold
To rush senseless through brain, and fold
My aged frame, dreary, to your kiss...
The years fall, I'm wrapped in your gold
Sun-lit hair and your loveliness!
I brood in darkness and regret...
Suffering of sacrament, kept
In a small place, where I have wept -
The nonsense of two hearts, not met.
I give no name to this love, swept
Through the stone of my soul, that's set
In Kingdoms ruled by passions bent:
I give idle dreams wings to flee
Down the byways of history;
Lips locked in sweetness, sealed and sent:
I do not see strange things in me,
Just this passion of discontent!
AT BOLESKINE
Oh wizard, tend my body, do,
And plant kisses in the garden of time;
Conjure spells that thunder through
My soul's sweet sleep sublime.
And if in haste, this world should be
Torn from our hearts, and thrown
From century to idle century
In the garden, overgrown...
Wand of desire, this love shall be
A rose-lipped hell of our own making...
In the dull roar of his monster voice - the sea!
A rough sea over the rocks was breaking!
And time will twist as our hearts fade
To the ceaseless echo, and remain
Nameless, deciphering the horror that's made
As we dance between the Devil and the Divine, again!
Hail to thee, great rapture of my heart;
I have sought the glory of thy name.
Let Love crown our souls in this Royal Art;
Let Love linger long in the hour of our fame!
And dark is the water that we know,
And steep the hill that we climb.
Oh passion, oh prophet, I fearless, grow
Towards a new dawn, touched by your time!
Inverness
WHERE THE REEDS WERE SPUN
She hid her failings far away,
But no fathom of heart could show
If love would ever come and stay,
Or if love in her heart would grow!
And I know that she keeps a black stone
Wrapped in a white piece of cloth...
I waited long near the gate, all alone,
Digging my heel in the wet grassy path;
Like some tired image in a mirror, I watch
Where the night had closed it in...
She was no vision of love, but a witch,
Scrying over my poor soul's pain!
And exaggerations swelled always
To the sadness on her face -
Does she still live for yesterday's
Shadows around the house?
From the window, a green pool's glow
Shifted to her sighs,
And the bright moon reflected long and low
In the horror of her eyes!
MAGPIES
When willows touch, we're there
Like dreary phantoms incomplete;
Our hearts and our tomorrows, softened
To the death embers that we consummate!
And these the holy fires, these our hearts;
These, the elements of love's decay...
And all that we embraced in trust
Were ordeals in truth that passed away;
Away into that slow realm of sleep!
Dance and give joy O boundless light
For the spirit of love has folded away
All that we assumed was wrong - was right!
SIX MOONS OF ABRAMELIN
I am called:
The times of destruction,
By awaiting star-manifold seers.
The room lay in never-ending
Procession, from half-world shades
Intent on preserving their disjointed
Sphere, with the tiresome trappings
Of being.
In a blue light that replaces living,
Are replicas of idols: gods,
All for seeing; worshipping,
On the tatty icon box.
Eyes - Yellow and time-swelled, slowly
Scanning the transfigured air
Beyond the Thoth-enamoured night,
Seek a kindred spirit to rage
Intricate rhythms upon...
He took his ceremonial robes
And went into the dawn -
I never saw him again.
Just that vanishing solar blaze
With the moon conjoined in his eyes.
PARAMETERS OF SOLITUDE
That a poem lives, I have no doubt;
Words are birthed as flesh is born
And cradled by thought and left to grow,
Nurtured and hammered and shaped by form
Into the rhythms that we know.
And I also, in my own mode, am verse;
A shadow of words, centuries strong.
Born midway between Cole and Rea,
Correcting my metre and my song
Of the soul in some familiar way.
And in youth, my cavalier love rushed in
Without much thought or much care...
Be there for me, and be loving, I said -
O girl in your girlhood: what's there?
But my love lay sleepless of meaning
Like the unwritten words of a prayer!
TOWARDS SCAFELL
Sheep rut, dark damp of stone -
Brain energy, consumed and torn
By nature's stump, to shape
The black emptiness, inside.
And that we chose
The more difficult route - I confess,
Jacketed by the elements;
Wedged like crag flowers in the moss;
Jam-jar tight... a power stamp
Of moon-scum on a wild landscape.
A fire in the gut and head of heat -
A wooden gate protected
By some invisible monster brute:
Some sentinel or saint, no doubt,
Or bog beast rising from the root.
Shrug of moonlight, history-stitching
Over stone and star, the infinity grind
Gurgles down gill and gulley... now,
A rush of steel, gobbed into oblivion
By spoon-light, is all that we know
Of what we feel and what remains.
Taylorgill Force
NISEAG
In bygone squid-lust, it slays
Centuries; shift from eye to eye;
Slumped in the bottomless sludge,
Uncaring of the world above
Where mankind, like mayflies, die!
Devil-curst fame: its fathomed kiss
Lies like love notes on the wake;
Measureless, in its humped myth
Where its bulk of heart can evoke
A dark and ancient emptiness.
Yet, we intrude upon its sleep
To wish upon it: 'museum-death',
The prey of monster eyes, always...
Guardian of your dark reach, deep,
May the mystery of our worlds, Never meet!
PRATYAHARA
Hanging skeletons dangle like catkins
On the lime shoots, tumult of time
Breathing sleep and sexual nutrition;
Liquid loquation - wonder and wisdom:
A space full of meaning with your name upon.
Departing from vision, distorted sensation -
Bodies were straying to half-aged man.
A confession and an obligation;
A battery of bells where patron Austen,
Roman builders, Greek thinkers, all transgress
Cracked frustration and ornamental flourish
Where uterine ecstasy's shape transforms
The accent of freedom, the earnest of gender -
The sacerdotal solace of spirit, now born.
Within me blew an orchard, a temple formed
Of tribe and trance, a summer house
Open to elements and friends.
A misfortune of mind, a neuro malfunction
As youth blossom-bombs reason, stretching
Nicotine wings from frontier to frontier.
Consumed by the praeternatural within -
Virgin on the hexagonal, assume
The turned point of no return.
Agape - free from abstract will
Relieved and delivered of evil, shows
Moss lanes to some cathode erased time
Rooted with beauty...Doom ships carry
Torments of entangled ecstasy, ringed
By wild confusion, the soul's salvation
Lost in the words of a prayer again.
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