Geoffrey Hill in memoriam // a poem

Days and times of days have gone,
You interrogate, interrogate,
Then curl your fingers down the locks
Of power, of recited words, of force.

Your voice, your ring, your link,
To me. When you speak you string
The chords and cuts of Gungnir, you string
Them up. You hallow torts and twist Andenken.

Yet we pray for princes, we praise
All prayer, and we protest and burn.
You want it back? You want Saturn's
Golden scythe guillotining optimates?

Good luck. Good speech! Good Lord,
If I have to hear another word,
I swear I will just do it all myself,
I swear I will just say it all myself —

The fruit of mercy rolls unsteady
Down the tongue, rashing
Regret, down by Amnon's
Known outrage — We are ready,

So let us sit. And let us now break bread,
Slice it cuneiform. I know you want to say,
If peace is at all possible, then we must engage,
Win and lose at once. If only I could get a gett

From all the tripe of Jewish Christianity.
Yet God is the husband,
And we'd be husbandry. Grab him by the wrists.
Fight him again. Get your damn name back — Hinneni.