84

84

The figure before 85 has always been a bad number,

As it refers to a year we saw coming but never knew

How to expect. It was George Orwell’s book

And the Nigel Kneale adaptation that first brought

That fascist hook to the people that would soon

Catch them all in fate’s net. Today, the sun glares with

A kind of defiance. Its stare is unyielding

As it put all kinds of skin to the test. It is,

To me at least, sun as scare, an intensity grown

Relentless, and with a strength that like darkness

Blinds us to everything else we’d forget.

We have been George’s cast for some time,

Even though his true name was Eric.

A suitably tame name for a prophet

Foretelling of the Apocalypse we will kiss.

How did he know what would be, in aspect

If not in appearance? With sly hands set

To guide us and ignorance as our bliss.

Because he knew we were weak and that

Sadly, socialism’s mistrusted, by those whose

Own efforts reach no further afield than

Their nose. The pathetic people who let

And then elect the uncaring, and who,

Grubbed and greedy will smother and snuff

England’s rose. Eric even got the children right.

Try riding the former buses or trains with

Teenagers. Listen to the rising screams

From their cellphones as the sounds we revered

Are drowned out. The new Rock n’ Roll rides on

The edge of a knife. It’s not music. With this

As their aspiration the actual value of life

Attains doubt. But Eric Blair wrote of hope.

Not of its success, as such, but its growing.

If there is a flower to be pressed into the novel

He earthed, there’s its worth. The chance to bolster

Each day, particularly when heat like this seeks

To starve it. So that each stem has to strain

Between pavements and in gardens that crack

To burst forth. For this is when it is plucked,

And used in time to show others, revealing

That the actual preservation of standards

Is what will frame Room 102’s open door.

It will look like a proper English cottage,

Perhaps, with gardenias spreading proudly,

Honeysuckle honeysuckling, as the intrusive

Japonica calls for more. I look at the gardens

On my street and sit watching the bees frenzied

Orgy. They plumb the plants and rose bushes

In a kind of winged ecstasy. And yet as they feed,

We recede, weakened by the stumbling chance

Now of freedom. Which is being reconstituted

But made to seem the same, carefully.

My fear is that right now, somewhere near

There will be a teenage O Brien. Seeing, too

Lightly, the vapid game this all is, and seeking

The chance to ride and roar and shine brightly

Across a darkened day he’ll enlighten by treating

Politics as Showbiz. Doubleplusbad is on the way.

Covid’s shown it. The mystery of our present

And the uncertain delays signal it. Even

Crimethink exists, as past and former shames

Now seem funny, and we construct entertainment

From Murder and wrench all number of sins

From Hell’s pit. So, this is my joke: and once

Again, its author is Cummings: Stay Alert. In this

Context it is wisdom indeed in two words.

But not for the reason they want,

Which is some sort of photocopied assurance,

But rather, for the purpose of attention,

As you try to rationalise what you’ve heard.

At least the news in all this has tried to translate

All that’s happened. The evil’s exposed

While the stupid and the possibly mad twit

And tweet. And so now we must all Winston

Smith and just make sure we keep at it.

Embrace the rat, bat and spider,

And make what you feared before

Somehow sweet. Do not believe,

Or accept whatever they say is required.

Airstrip One may be grounded

But the darkened towers they seek

Might complete.

David Erdos May 31st 2020

For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 

David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos

©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.