Peter Porter(b. 1929)
An Angel in Blythburgh Church
Shot d o w n from its enskied formation,
This stern-faced p l u m m e t rests against the wall;
Cromwell's soldiers peppered it2 and n o w the death-
watch beetle has it in thrall.3
If you make fortunes from wool, along
T h e w e e p i n g winter foreshores of the tide,
You build big churches with clerestories4
And place angels high inside.
Their painted faces guard and guide. N o w or
Tomorrow or whenever is the promise—
T h e resurrection comes: fix your eyes halfway
B e t w e e n Heaven and Diss.5
T h e f a c e is c r u d e l y carved, simplified by wind;
It looks straight at G o d a n d waits for orders,
B u f f e t e d by t h e o r g a n militant, a n d blasted
By c h o r i s t e r s a n d r e c o r d e r s .
F a i t h w o u l d have o u r eyes as w o o d e n a n d as certain.
It m i g h t be w o r t h it, to start t h e N e w Year's h y m n
Allowing for d e a t h as a m e r e c a l c u l a t i o n ,
A d e p r e c i a t i o n , e n t e r e d in.
Or so I f a n c y looking at t h e roof b e a m s
W h e r e t h e d a n g e r o u s b e e t l e sails. W h a t is it
T u r n s a n atheist's m i n d t o prayer i n a l m o s t
A n y c h u r c h on a c o u n t r y visit
Greed for love or certainty or forgiveness:3
H i g h security rising w i t h t h e sea birds
A theology of self looking for p r e c e d e n t s ?
A c h a n c e to s p e a k old words
R a t h e r , I t h i n k of a w o m a n lying on h e r bed6
Staring for h o u r s up to t h e ceiling w h e r e
N o t h i n g is p r o j e c t e d — d e a t h t h e only angel
T o shield h e r f r o m despair.