Old games for new times,
For slowly running out of time
For watching as the world tilts,
One half against the other;
For you to see your warring double
Across the field, already mounted;
For you to rub the dirt upon your hands and say:
I will, will not; this far, no further, unless…
… At sun-up the chase begins. Hart may ruse and he may flee, he may plunge into the chilly stream, but the hounds run on and never change, till he is brought to bay, and as they run they revile him, baying their taunts in a language he can understand…
But this year, to save the king hard riding and so he may enjoy the society of delicate ladies, the harts are driven to the hunters where they stand against the trees, dressed in silken green, their crossbows in hand….
The Mirror and the Light, 276-7
Your eye is steady, though the sun
Would make to blind you; the hunt approaches;
Here you stand, yet there you are,
Doubled in the hunter and the prey –
Take aim, now, and take good care
You do not sight yourself.
The Journal is a section where I post weekly poems responding to Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall trilogy. Here’s last week’s edition:
This is one of my favorites so far 😊