and a good friday was had by all
(Bruce Dawe, 1930 -)
You men there, keep
those women back
and God Almighty he
laid down
on the crossed timber
and old Silenus
my offsider looked at
me as if to say
nice work for
soldiers, your mind’s not your own
once you sign that
dotted line Ave Caesar
and all that malarkey
Imperator Rex
well this Nazarene
didn’t make it any
easier
really – not like the
ones
who kick up a fuss so
you can
do your block and
take it out on them
Silenus
held the spikes
steady and I let fly
with the
sledge-hammer, not looking
on the downswing
trying hard not to hear
over the women’s
wailing the bones give way
the iron shocking the
dumb wood.
Orders is orders, I
said after it was over
nothing personal you
understand – we had a
drill-sergeant once
thought he was God but he wasn’t
a patch on you
then we hauled on the
ropes
and he rose in the
hot air
like a diver just
leaving the springboard, arms spread
so it seemed
over the whole damned
creation
over the big men who
must have had it in for him
and the curious ones
who’ll watch anything if it’s free
with only the usual
women caring anywhere
and a blind man in
tears.
The times I read, and
a good friday was had by all, I find myself reflecting on the words the
soldier addressed to Jesus, “orders is
orders ……… nothing personal you understand – we had a drill-sergeant once
thought he was God but he wasn’t a patch on you ………” They are a soldier’s words spoken honestly and
show no hatred or malice, spoken man to man, with a tough admiration. I can’t help but feel that Jesus would have
blessed those words.
In my poem, I also reflect on the act of Jesus’
crucifixion. I had a whole day to reflect
– hiking with my family on a Good Friday.
The content was running through my head as we struggled over alpine
hiking trails. At the end of the day I
just wrote what I had thought and felt – very quick poem, capture it like a
dream. One day I may come back to polish
it – but maybe it is as it is ………. happy Easter.
2012. We travel down to Thredbo and stay at the Navy ski
lodge for the Easter weekend. None of us
attend church service, but I know these mountains and alpine region won’t let
you off that easy from celebration and worship.
Good Friday
on the Main Range
5:30
Under the shower,
this is Good Friday,
our Lord would be
being whipped and scourged,
a long night of no sleep.
I make the first cut
on our leg of ham (sandwiches),
the Jews didn’t eat pork,
forbade it
because it was prone
to be full of disease and parasites,
another social rule
enforced by religion.
good friday,
what will the people say,
when they see us eating ham?
6:30
I’m ready, keen
to get around to Charlotte Pass
and our walk on the Main Range ,
for some reason, Matthew
drags the chain,
deliberate protest against authority?
Jesus pissed the authorities off,
why would he do that?
Didn’t he expect they’d kill him?
Sitting, waiting,
whatever happened to authority?
Now, collaborative decision making
means everybody’s guilty.
9:00
We’re finally started,
carrying jackets and thermals.
They’d be nailing Jesus
to the cross now,
hauling him up
to hang in the air,
physical exertion begins
on our Mount Calvary ,
climbing out
of the Snowy River
valley,
my heart is beating too fast.
Jesus’s heart,
his physical heart,
the heart of Jesus,
essence of Jesus,
God,
they say it takes hours and hours
for a person to die from crucifixion,
we’ve only just begun.
12:00
Up, we seem to be ever
climbing up,
clouds blacken in anger
beyond us.
For a people of signs,
it’s a wonder they never saw
the signs.
Out on the range
there’s no protection from the wind,
it howls and stabs,
deliberate and horizontal
at our bodies,
we’re walking in cloud
being shredded and re-formed
over tough alpine plants,
giving no illusion
that death in these parts
could be very close at hand.
The women, the women
at the foot of the cross,
would be howling
and wailing by now, how long
will they have to wait
and watch?
We know it’s another three hours,
one hour to Kosciosko,
two to Seaman’s hut.
3:00
Trudging
as bowed monks
strung out,
along the road
to salvation.
The road’s a brown line
drawing the eye away
to creek crossings
and snow depth markers,
each at 25 metres
set to leaning angles,
like crucifixion poles.
They could crucify hundreds here,
the Romans used to do that,
line the roads and leave them.
These they had to get down
before sunset,
so they broke the legs
of the thieves
and stuck a spear
in Jesus’ side.
Surprisingly, devout hikers
armed with light camping gear,
pass us going out.
It’s Good Friday.
We have witnessed,
the devil’s fury
will have no mercy
here tonight.
J. O. White
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