Fred Beake: The New Lord

Fred Beake

Fred Beake has been a modern romantic in an age of realism. He has devoted himself to poetry and translation since 1972, while earning his living in a variety of ways, but is now retired. He grew up in rural Yorkshire, and after not taking a degree at Sussex University, spent two years writing in a cottage on the edge of the North York Moors, before living in Bath for thirty years. He moved to Torquay in 2003. He took a classics degree from Bristol University as a mature student. He edited the Poet's Voice 1982-2000, featuring poets as different as Edward Boaden Thomas, Bill Griffiths and Sally Purcell; and also Mammon Press. Recent publications: The Bees of the Horizon (Etruscan); Towards the West, and Places and Elegies (Salzburg U.P.); and The Cyclops (Menard press). The University of Salzburg published a large Selected Poems: The Whiteness of her Becoming in 1992. In 2006 Shearsman Books issued a substantial New and Selected Poems.

The New Lord

At the centre of the smithy I observe the deep red of the fire
       For the transformation of metal, and close to it the water
That fixes its form. All my days I have stood here all the times I could
       Watching a ploughshare emerge, or better still
The wonder of fine shaping for our old lord, who was a man of peace.
       He had no keep and no walls, beyond his church
Where men gathered each week to discuss life with their neighbour,
       And perhaps by their presence acknowledge their acceptance
Of the patterns that join us. But now while the rain is drumming
       And the stream is rushing, and full to flooding
We prepare for war. Warhorses kept for show must be shod,
       And weapons long hung out of the way on walls
Cleansed of the fractures of rust and time, and new swords and axes
       Must be furnished in the latest fashion.
Standing at the forge our old smith has a certain look in his eyes:
       This is what he has been preparing for all his days.
But I think the smelting of the smith should be a spell of good making
       — As well pruned apple trees yield crisp fruit
Or the snowdrop springs to sight after hard winter.
       Why do we prepare for a war that no one needs?
Our new young lord should be discussing peace, or improving crop yields,
       But the young men are full of admiration for his future prowess
And the young women gaze with admiration at his muscles.
       Our lord sits with his captains, who are eager for forays and battles
Having never seen the crow-pecked bodies after victory.
       Do they not hear the prophecies of the wind and rain?