Another response to a poem by John Isbell (currently on Met):
Version II: The Ram God Khnum
The god’s two horns come from a ram
now long extinct. Each twist and twirl
is lost on Earth, but not on him:
we die, not him, that is the deal.
His starry hands will shape and curl
men and gods on a potter’s wheel.
In Egypt, where both ram and bull
persist, the smoke of sacrifice
climbs up to Heaven. Now, is all
Khnum fashioned lost beneath the Nile?
Like river birds, we lift our voice –
but we have nothing to reveal.
Is it some sort of miracle
that walks this god into our lives?
Has Khnum come as the osprey dives –
to bend our knee, to break our will?
His left hand holds crisp British air.
He takes a step into the hall
and says, "Where am I? What's this place?
Who are you, staring as I start
to walk around your chilly place,
with oh such yearnings in my heart
to find my wheel and spin again,
creating children to implant
in warming wombs; no need for men
with my designs. I spin, I chant,
and bodies rise from river clay,
but where's my Nile, my temple too?
Why do you shriek and run away;
what is a ram-head god to do?
'Show me the way to Egypt, please!'
comes my request, rambunctious tone;
and some gent says, 'Well, there's a frieze;
you'll find it in the Egypt zone.'"
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F-image: In the British Museum, John Isbell and Khnum converse, while other visitors scatter around them, appearing terrified :>)
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