The Quest

I. The Door Out of it steps our future, through this door Enigmas, executioners and rules, Her Majesty in a bad temper or A red-nosed Fool who makes a fool of fools. Great persons eye it in the twilight for A past it might so carelessly let in, A widow with a missionary grin, The foaming inundation at a roar. We pile our all against it when afraid, And beat upon its panels when we die: By happening to be open once, it made Enormous Alice see a wonderland That waited for her in the sunshine and, Simply by being tiny, made her cry. II. The Preparations All had been ordered weeks before the start From the best firms at such work: instruments To take the measure of all queer events, And drugs to move the bowels or the heart. A watch, of course, to watch impatience fly, Lamps for the dark and shades against the sun; Foreboding, too, insisted on a gun, And coloured beads to soothe a savage eye. In theory they were sound on Expectation, Had there been situations to be in; Unluckily they were their situation: One should not give a poisoner medicine, A conjurer fine apparatus, nor A rifle to a melancholic bore. III. The Crossroads Two friends who met here and embraced are gone, Each to his own mistake; one flashes on To fame and ruin in a rowdy lie, A village torpor holds the other one, Some local wrong where it takes time to die: This empty junction glitters in the sun. So at all quays and crossroads: who can tell These places of decision and farewell To what dishonour all adventure leads, What parting gift could give that friend protection, So orientated his vocation needs The Bad Lands and the sinister direction? All landscapes and all weathers freeze with fear, But none have ever thought, the legends say, The time allowed made it impossible; For even the most pessimistic set The limit of their errors at a year. What friends could there be left then to betray, What joy take longer to atone for; yet Who could complete without the extra day The journey that should take no time at all? IV. The Traveler No window in his suburb lights that bedroom where A little fever heard large afternoons at play: His meadows multiply; that mill, though, is not there Which went on grinding at the back of love all day. Nor all his weeping ways through weary wastes have found The castle where his Greater Hallows are interned; For broken bridges halt him, and dark thickets round Some ruin where an evil heritage was burned. Could he forget a child's ambition to be old And institutions where it learned to wash and lie, He'd tell the truth for which he thinks himself too young, That everywhere on his horizon, all the sky, Is now, as always, only waiting to be told To be his father's house and speak his mother tongue. V. The City In villages from which their childhoods came Seeking Necessity, they had been taught Necessity by nature is the same No matter how or by whom it be sought. The city, though, assumed no such belief, But welcomed each as if he came alone, The nature of Necessity like grief Exactly corresponding to his own. And offered them so many, every one Found some temptation fit to govern him, And settled down to master the whole craft Of being nobody; sat in the sun During the lunch-hour round the fountain rim, And watched the country kids arrive, and laughed. VI. The First Temptation Ashamed to be the darling of his grief, He joined a gang of rowdy stories where His gift for magic quickly made him chief Of all these boyish powers of the air; Who turned his hungers into Roman food, The town's asymmetry into a park; All hours took taxis; any solitude Became his flattered duchess in the dark. But, if he wished for anything less grand, The nights came padding after him like wild Beasts that meant harm, and all the doors cried Thief; And when Truth had met him and put out her hand, He clung in panic to his tall belief And shrank away like an ill-treated child. VII. The Second Temptation His library annoyed him with its look Of calm belief in being really there; He threw away a rival's boring book, And clattered panting up the spiral stair. Swaying upon the parapet he cried: "O Uncreated Nothing, set me free, Now let Thy perfect be identified, Unending passion of the Night, with Thee." And his long-suffering flesh, that all the time Had felt the simple cravings of the stone And hoped to be rewarded for her climb, Took it to be a promise when he spoke That now at last she would be left alone, And plunged into the college quad, and broke. VIII. The Third Temptation He watched with all his organs of concern How princes walk, what wives and children say, Re-opened old graves in his heart to learn What laws the dead had died to disobey, And came reluctantly to his conclusion: "All the arm-chair philosophies are false; To love another adds to the confusion; The song of mercy is the Devil's Waltz." All that he put his hand to prospered so That soon he was the very King of creatures, Yet, in an autumn nightmare trembled, for, Approaching down a ruined corridor, Strode someone with his own distorted features Who wept, and grew enormous, and cried Woe. IX. The Tower This is an architecture for the old; Thus heaven was attacked by the afraid, So once, unconsciously, a virgin made Her maidenhead conspicuous to a god. Here on dark nights while worlds of triumph sleep Lost Love in abstract speculation burns, And exiled Will to politics returns In epic verse that makes its traitors weep. Yet many come to wish their tower a well; For those who dread to drown, of thirst may die, Those who see all become invisible: Here great magicians, caught in their own spell, Long for a natural climate as they sigh "Beware of Magic" to the passer-by. X. The Presumptuous They noticed that virginity was needed To trap the unicorn in every case, But not that, of those virgins who succeeded, A high percentage had an ugly face. The hero was as daring as they thought him, But his peculiar boyhood missed them all; The angel of a broken leg had taught him The right precautions to avoid a fall. So in presumption they set forth alone On what, for them, was not compulsory, And stuck half-way to settle in some cave With desert lions to domesticity, Or turned aside to be absurdly brave, And met the ogre and were turned to stone. XI. The Average His peasant parents killed themselves with toil To let their darling leave a stingy soil For any of those fine professions which Encourage shallow breathing, and grow rich. The pressure of their fond ambition made Their shy and country-loving child afraid No sensible career was good enough, Only a hero could deserve such love. So here he was without maps or supplies, A hundred miles from any decent town; The desert glared into his blood-shot eyes, The silence roared displeasure: looking down, He saw the shadow of an Average Man Attempting the exceptional, and ran. XII. Vocation Incredulous, he stared at the amused Official writing down his name among Those whose request to suffer was refused. The pen ceased scratching: though he came too late To join the martyrs, there was still a place Among the tempters for a caustic tongue To test the resolution of the young With tales of the small failings of the great, And shame the eager with ironic praise. Though mirrors might be hateful for a while, Women and books would teach his middle age The fencing wit of an informal style, To keep the silences at bay and cage His pacing manias in a worldly smile. XIII. The Useful The over-logical fell for the witch Whose argument converted him to stone, Thieves rapidly absorbed the over-rich, The over-popular went mad alone, And kisses brutalised the over-male. As agents their importance quickly ceased; Yet, in proportion as they seemed to fail, Their instrumental value was increased For one predestined to attain their wish. By standing stones the blind can feel their way, Wild dogs compel the cowardly to fight, Beggars assist the slow to travel light, And even madmen manage to convey Unwelcome truths in lonely gibberish. XIV. The Way Fresh addenda are published every day To the encyclopedia of the Way, Linguistic notes and scientific explanations, And texts for schools with modernised spelling and illustrations. Now everyone knows the hero must choose the old horse, Abstain from liquor and sexual intercourse, And look out for a stranded fish to be kind to: Now everyone thinks he could find, had he a mind to, The way through the waste to the chapel in the rock For a vision of the Triple Rainbow or the Astral Clock, Forgetting his information comes mostly from married men Who liked fishing and a flutter on the horses now and then. And how reliable can any truth be that is got By observing oneself and then just inserting a Not? XV. The Lucky Suppose he'd listened to the erudite committee, He would have only found where not to look; Suppose his terrier when he whistled had obeyed, It would not have unearthed the buried city; Suppose he had dismissed the careless maid, The cryptogram would not have fluttered from the book. "It was not I," he cried as, healthy and astounded, He stepped across a predecessor's skull; "A nonsense jingle simply came into my head And left the intellectual Sphinx dumbfounded; I won the Queen because my hair was red; The terrible adventure is a little dull." Hence Failure's torment: "Was I doomed in any case, Or would I not have failed had I believed in Grace?" XVI. The Hero He parried every question that they hurled: "What did the Emperor tell you?" "Not to push." "What is the greatest wonder of the world?" "The bare man Nothing in the Beggar's Bush." Some muttered: "He is cagey for effect. A hero owes a duty to his fame. He looks too like a grocer for respect." Soon they slipped back into his Christian name. The only difference that could be seen From those who'd never risked their lives at all Was his delight in details and routine: For he was always glad to mow the grass, Pour liquids from large bottles into small, Or look at clouds through bits of coloured glass. XVII. Adventure Others had found it prudent to withdraw Before official pressure was applied, Embittered robbers outlawed by the Law, Lepers in terror of the terrified. But no one else accused these of a crime; They did not look ill: old friends, overcome, Stared as they rolled away from talk and time Like marbles out into the blank and dumb. The crowd clung all the closer to convention, Sunshine and horses, for the sane know why The even numbers should ignore the odd: The Nameless is what no free people mention; Successful men know better than to try To see the face of their Absconded God. XVIII. The Adventurers Spinning upon their central thirst like tops, They went the Negative Way towards the Dry; By empty caves beneath an empty sky They emptied out their memories like slops, Which made a foul marsh as they dried to death, Where monsters bred who forced them to forget The lovelies their consent avoided; yet, Still praising the Absurd with their last breath, They seeded out into their miracles: The images of each grotesque temptation Became some painter's happiest inspiration, And barren wives and burning virgins came To drink the pure cold water of their wells, And wish for beaux and children in their name. XIX. The Waters Poet, oracle, and wit Like unsuccessful anglers by The ponds of apperception sit, Baiting with the wrong request The vectors of their interest, At nightfall tell the angler's lie. With time in tempest everywhere, To rafts of frail assumption cling The saintly and the insincere; Enraged phenomena bear down In overwhelming waves to drown Both sufferer and suffering. The waters long to hear our question put Which would release their longed-for answer, but. XX. The Garden Within these gates all opening begins: White shouts and flickers through its green and red, Where children play at seven earnest sins And dogs believe their tall conditions dead. Here adolescence into number breaks The perfect circle time can draw on stone, And flesh forgives division as it makes Another's moment of consent its own. All journeys die here: wish and weight are lifted: Where often round some old maid's desolation Roses have flung their glory like a cloak, The gaunt and great, the famed for conversation Blushed in the stare of evening as they spoke And felt their centre of volition shifted.