JEANNE D'ARC

SAINT JOAN

‘…May the Lord so keep me...’

1.
Forsaking exile, God
appeared before the child. And a cry arose,
as twilight settled above the hills, panorama
of moon and stars; the epoch before God –

Thus the child was sworn.

Within the summoned flesh,
the gift at last apparent—
though partial—

As is all
fate, all freedom.

2.
So little to be made
of youth, of childhood. In Domrémy
the villagers weep, bearing
wax candles in a coiled procession.

And everywhere the lament
of doves, cries,
the ascending arias of inhuman sorrow –

As far away, above
the sound of the Seine, the surface of the water tainted,
stained with human blood, the child kneels, weeping.

What has she seen?

The first rains of spring
pooled in the clear throats of the lilies, deepening
then bleeding
colour from the wildflowers.

3.
Neither punishment,
nor sacrifice. The trivial flesh
unburdened; as against bare stone
the abstracted
body of a woman –

In the empty courtyard, the Bishop
kneels before the Blessed Virgin,
meaning to pray. Perhaps for forgiveness,
perhaps for pity.

So God shrank
from heaven: an emanation, an walked
as one among men of the earth -

Beyond the courtyard, arpeggios gutter from the dented throats of stone angels.

4.

What child does not worship suffering?

So the child swore:
‘A premonition: I foresaw my death’ –

In the cell’s darkness,
it was as though a soul appeared,
at once transfigured:

Fire will know no such brilliance
before the consummation
of your body.

So the child swore:
‘My body: all that remains of my childhood’.

At the barred door, in whispers,
the armed guards strip themselves of all armour.

5.
What good to cry out?

Late spring: an image
of waste, of disappointment.

‘Lord, who granted my solitude,
the world will have me as it pleases.
Before the pyre, I ask that my body
be transformed to nothing human:
to be neither living nor dead.
By Your grace I would kneel again,
I would kneel again beside you –

How my body
rose in that blaze, leaving no ash scattered in its wake.'