Markings 77
Supposing Him to be the Gardener
i. Born Again – Her First Unrecorded Death
Mary Magdalen is Baptised by John in the River Jordan
a villanelle
He holds me as a cup of trembling,
from the depths of Jordan’s night,
wordless from his hands to morning.
Wars, rumours of war, plots and scheming,
I have shed seven burdens, now contrite,
he holds me as a cup of trembling.
Now a woman to His kingdom coming,
high above me clouds of nimbus light,
wordless from his hands to morning.
Galilee in golden air is shining,
in walnuts, figs and olives bright,
he holds me as a cup of trembling.
From these waters I am rising,
into the mystery of ecstatic flight,
wordless from his hands to morning.
On the crowded shore, His face I’m finding,
from the depths of Jordan’s night,
he holds me as a cup of trembling,
wordless from his hands to morning.
Jeff Guess Page 135
Supposing Him to be the Gardener
x. Childhood
i.
The fingers of my free hand
silence the unwanted string
in the chord
of the small turtle-shell kinnor*
my father has bought me
for my tenth fête - with the words
‘Mary! O sing unto the Lord
a new song!’
ii.
Tonight we sleep on the flat roof
of our mud brick house.
The baked whitewashed walls
still clicking
cooling from a blistering
summer sun.
My mother tells me again
the stars are holes in a blanket
that is drawn like a mantle
over heaven.
‘And that one!’ she says ‘The Hunter!’
My bright, bright, bright – Betelgeuse,
the sharp pointer in a cold winter
cross of lights.
iii.
My father is a carpenter
and has crafted
all our sparse furniture
from an ancient fallen olive tree
a fruit bowl
and a bread board for my mother
its black and blonde fiddle-back grain
now a ravaged masterpiece
of embattled polish
risen from the tense carved ecstasy
of his blade.
Jeff Guess Page 133
* Kinnor (Hebrew: כִּנּוֹר) is an ancient Israelite musical instrument, the exact identification of which is unclear, but in the modern day is generally translated as "harp" or "lyre"
Supposing Him to be the Gardener
xiii. Woman, Why are You Weeping?
Putting one and one together
to my mind
and in my experience
doesn’t ever make two
and nor is it easy.
He was both dead and disappeared
and I was beside myself
beside His deserted bed.
I’ve thought long and hard
as to why I didn’t recognise Him.
The tranquil gardener.
I think now of the perfected self
some of us aspire to, as He did
and just – missed it in Him: entirely.
Perhaps that’s what it was.
Afterwards Peter – petulant as ever
impulsive, promise breaker,
we never got on
asking me over and over again
who or what I saw?
I don’t know what they wrote
of what happened
in the days and weeks to come
there were many conflicting stories
some sane and some just silly
hype and hyperbole.
And as for me
I never saw Him again.
Didn’t need to
just being with Him - together
for those few, brief years
has made all the difference.
Jeff Guess Page 136
©Jeff Guess 2017
