A SHRINE TO DIS PATER
Dis Pater is the father of all of the children of Gaul. All of its warriors, its holy men, its bards and its herders: all come from Him, all are His descendants. His legacy is in us: He is the God of humanity itself, the God of the deeds of man. He is our progenitor, our adviser, and our provider.
He, too, is chthonic. Lying beneath the earth, long since dead and gone from this world, He who created us now watches over us, our ancestors, and our descendants. Our ancestors dine in His hall--the hall of the graveyard--as we too one day will dine, and as too our descendants will dine, long into the future, until His lineage dies out. Then, perhaps, he will move on, as always the soul does move on. Dis Pater is a creator. His deeds are our deeds, and our deeds are His: every honorable or dishonorable thing we do reflects on His legacy. Dis Pater, bring me to a good place: |
“Flowery mantle.” “Homeric sacrifice?” “noise of darkness” “fear of
darkness” “now mantle of innocence” “King of his death now” “Home”
“I’ve come home” “He said, ‘I’ve come home’” “They were sacrificed for
nothing, for distant” “instants of thought” “All for your thinking”
“He said, ‘I’ve come home; I've finally come home’ then he died” “flowers”
“Magnolias & lilies” “innocent now” “I’ve come home. Who’s there?
at home? all the dead?” “To come home from the war” “years after” “To die” “To
wear mantle light honey” “mantle dead white” “in sunlight, in late”
“Homeric?” “he said it was hideous” “all of it” “hideous” “every
instant in Nam” “theatre of worsts” “now mantle of
white” “phosphorous & lilies?” “trees now lean down” “over our faces”
“Tell details of battle?” “As” “in an epic?” “As” “in lies?”
“We don’t want that now” “We want only our mother of
dirt” “our mantle of white” “want each other of soul; and”
“we want” “our mother of spirit” (“rich sweet in dirt”) “we want”
“our father” “of leaves” “We want our fate fragmented to air for
our children to breathe;” “light on water for widows to think near”
“moonlight on water to ease you” “we want no poet, we want our
homes in the earth” “that’s all we can have” “want no place in
history or poetry” “want our wanderings our sorrows, after the war
not remembered,” “we want not
to pain her”
Poem is from "White Phosphorous" by Alice Notley.