You did not see Him on the mount of the Transfiguration
Or the night He walked the sea;
You never saw corpses colour when bier and grave
It was in the hour of His flaying and His filth you saw Him,
Under whip, under thorns,
And nailed, a sack of bones, outside the city,
On a stick, like a scarecrow.
You did not hear the parables shaped like a Parthenon of language,
Or His tone in talking of His Father,
Neither did you hear the secrets of the upper room,
Or the prayer before Cedron and betrayal.
It was in the revel of a crowd of sadists carousing on sorrow,
And their shriek, howl, curse, and shout,
You heard the profound lament of the broken heart of their prey,
'Why have You forsaken me?'
You, crucified on the right; on the left, your brother;
Writhing like toads that were skinned,
Flea-ridden pilferers tossed as retainers to deride Him,
Courtiers for a mock king in agony.
Oh master of courtesy and manners, who enlightened for you
Your part in the savage charade?
“Lord, when you enter your kingdom, remember me,'
The kingdom conquered by dying.
Rex Judaeorum; you were the first to see the mocking
Blasphemy as a living oracle,
You were first to believe in the Latin, Hebrew, and Greek,
That a cross was God's throne.
Oh thief who stole Paradise from the nails of a stake,
Leader of heaven's nobility,
Pray that it may be given us too, before the hour of our death,
To see Him and know Him.”
translated from the Welsh by Joseph Clancy
painting: detail from Andrea Mantegna's 'Crucifixion' (c. 1457)
