Small Etude For Vladimir Bukovsky On The One Year Anniversary Of His Being Laid To Rest At Highgate Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

perhaps he invented a new country.
the country of his friends.
together they would lift the heavy skies
as many times as necessary
the miasma like concrete smashing the heart
freezing the small bud overnight.
their laughter would dissolve the solidity of truncheons
together they would recover the sun
grass would spring up as if in Eden the blossoms pasted
back on the trees as in children's artwork. they would sing.
toasts would be made over light conversation
over the soughing of the wind through guardian trees
I dont know. Im making it up myself out of my imagination.
I met him once at a conference
he seemed ill at ease. how could he not be I guess.
I read the book about the castle. It became a kind of map for me at
the time. a talisman.
It was a golden thread in a labyrinth I needed to get out of.
I would recommend it even for people in non political personally
oppressive situations.not of their own making. in the end there is
no politics; there is only the personal; the soul with a straw under clay.
you too can go out into the garden. perhaps you wont have to make as
many speeches as he did. to throw yourself your whole life
under the wheels of being rearrested, a million times in your head
truly he must have been tired of all those conferences.
what would he have done otherwise. tend the flowers
listen to Rachmoninoff. I dont know. I wasnt one of the friends.
just a reader. a person needing a different key to unlock
a door I didnt know was already open.
you have a dream. In the dream there is an earthquake.
you wake up or you sleep walk out and discover its true.
it really happened. that happened to him.
it happened to me in a different context.
I did not dissent. But I did not lie.
this got me removed from many situations. kicked out, in fact.
people generally dont like those who never lie.
even in peacetime. this is what I found out.
you have to build a castle in your mind.
otherwise, the world being as it is
you have no other place to live.
mary angela douglas 19 november 2020

P.S. The book about the castle alluded to in the poem is: TO BUILD A CASTLE by Vladimir Bukovsky.