Lament for the Makars #2
Golden lads and lasses all, had we made
better unacknowledged law, mastered our trade,
we’d maybe not have seen so many lies made legal
tender, maybes we’d been makars of a better commonweal.
Anger’s not the language of lament. We may speak in tongues
of mortal men or sing like angels, cleverly
tell the obvious truth or be oblique, someone else
must judge our weight of love, the integrity of our songs.
If life is brutish, short, or if the lie is sovereign,
is that news? Things hidden from the foundation
of the world, but hidden in plain sight?
Let us be honest witnesses, at least that.
I call you, makars all, my friends. It’s difficult at times.
I call myself to metanoia, as the Greek text has it. Rhymes
its meaning with the English word ‘repentance’, where I find
or hope to find some healing for my tired, my John-Clared mind.
Harry Smart was born in Dewsbury, in the West Riding of Yorkshire. He went to school in Morley and Batley, then in 1974 to the University of Aberdeen. He has lived in Scotland since. He has published three books of poetry, Pierrot, Shoah, andFool’s Pardon, and one novel, Zaire. He lives in Montrose.