TIERING UP by David Erdos - Poem 10 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

 Poem 10 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

TIERING UP


What are these tiers anyway? Tiers of joy? Tiers for plenty?

Tiers or tears in the fabric of what we know and do not know

To be true? Tears in the real, stadium tiers made for football

In which the male love for Captains and some of the female

 

Love stains the news? No, these decisions are domes to contain

The prone public. The lack of definition astounds me despite

The border lines tightly sketched, which bind one level of tier

To the next, which is either more restricted, or, freer,

 

And making yet more confusion through travel, while we

Trainee Agoraphobics fail to move further, grieving 

For ourselves while we’re living, corpses who also become

The bereft. Many have stopped watching the briefs

 

That the buffoon beast bluffs so blithely, so these

Sudden strictures surprised me as England Venn Diagrams

Into tiny sectors of health after Liverpool’s strained

Example, in which some of the suffering streets in that city

 

Could not even afford what was planned. With the soldiers

Guns in one hand and a testing kit in another, we will see

Other cities primed and rehearsed for the cosh that we

Will be ushered under in time by enforced law or injection,

 

Already the hopes have been furloughed as no quick fix 

Solves that cough. Meanwhile Cummings went. That he had

Support at all chills me further. Meantime the other draught

Pieces are hustled and cast into play. Unpriti stands peeled,

 

But remains with that sneer that needs fire to wipe it away;

Tears are falling of frustration and grief every day. It will not

Be as you think. Cry for the particular time that begat you,

As it may well be forgotten, not by you, but by forces

 

That could still crack you like eggs. Battery humans, perhaps.

Will they behave, wanting Christmas? The hype of that season

Feels more exposed than before, feels like dregs. Whitty,

A man, with a strange, bloodless smile now advises: 

 

Do not hug or kiss your Grandmother, for fear of making

You a Judas of sorts to her Christ. Remain in your Tiers

And with your tears as well, you kept baby. Meet your six.

Sex your partners but for those without, there’s just vice.

 

That remains in the home in a pornography of both mind

And body, as the sense of unreality widens and we all hold

Our breath. You can go into shops. You can mix. So where

And what is contagion? The attempt at control; The Coronic?

 

Or the Covidian chorus of death? No-one knows. No-one sees.

The line bends. Needles glisten. A celebritised vaccine: the answer

To our prayers, or the start – of new kinds of tiers in which bodies

Lay stacked with ambitions. Watch this space. Souls slip through it.

 

Meanwhile, they are cutting new zones through our hearts.




David Erdos November 27th 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.


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