Complete Poems: Muriel Spark

  Was ever of that part.’

  Samuel Cramer went down in the lift,

  Walked through the tremorous streets with the little guard,

  And he had come to No-Man’s sanatorium

  In the antiseptic ward.

  ‘Now bless this day,’ cried Samuel Cramer,

  ‘That I have lived to win.

  It is not for my white father

  Nor for my mother brown,

  It is not for the Fanfarlo

  That the fever has put down,

  But Manuela de Monteverde,

  For his sake I’ll suffer pain.’

  Then up and said an ether-bowl,

  ‘You bless this day too fine,

  For in the antiseptic ward

  I think you will feel no pain.’

  ‘Then praise this day,’ cried Samuel Cramer,

  ‘That I have lived to see.

  It is not for my Chilean mother

  Nor for my father from Germany,

  It is not for the Fanfarlo

  That the fever has laid by,

  But Manuela de Monteverde,

  For his sake I’ll die.’

  Then up and spoke a little keen knife,

  ‘You praise this day too high,

  For in this sanatorium

  I think you will not die.’

  Samuel Cramer laid his head down,

  And he was locked in an anaesthetic sleep.

  The ether-bowl stood over him

  And the keen knife ripped him up.

  And first they found his white bone,

  And next his brown marrow,

  And when they found his feverish heart

  They said, ‘He is No Man that we know.

  ‘If he is the son of a German father

  And a Chilean mother brown,

  Speak the word, you white bone.’

  But answer they got none.

  ‘If he is come from the Fanfarlo

  That the fever has put down,

  Speak the word, you brown marrow.’

  But answer they got none.

  ‘If Manuela de Monteverde

  Was ever his benison,

  Speak the word, you feverish heart.’

  Answer they got none.

  Then up and rose the little red light,

  And he had run through the long streets of the city.

  ‘Now hear, now hear, my master dear,

  The news of my day’s duty.

  ‘Oh, they have asked his brown marrow

  And they asked his white bone,

  And they asked his false heart also,

  But answer they got none.’

  ‘He lied, he lied,’ the steel chair said,

  ‘Three times he lied as he stood here,

  For a white father and a brown mother

  Can never a man bear;

  The dancing Fanfarlo is married

  And buried a hundred years or more;

  And Manuela de Monteverde

  He is a steel chair.’

  II

  The noise of a fog-horn out behind the window,

  As well as the smell of gas,

  And visible air of a metropolitan yellow,

  And also the taste of withered cress,

  And the chill of a zinc pillow:

  All were assembled, having come concerning

  Samuel Cramer, who woke before the morning.

  ‘Whatever’s in my nostril is an element

  No different from the mist I cannot see through,

  And the same as a mouthful of sour condiment,

  As it might be a cold white slab for my pillow.

  In all I hear the siren vigilant:

  Far away the fog must be on the river,

  But where am I?’ cried Samuel Cramer.

  ‘The cloud, the taste, the smell, are feverish fancies;

  The touch and the sound are past all reasoning;

  For now I see a row of slender benches,

  On each a narrow sleeper lying,

  And every sleeper bound with bandages:

  They must be in a hellish dormitory,’

  Cried Samuel Cramer, ‘but where am I?’

  ‘Oh, where am I, you slender sleepers?’

  Then the four walls answered him,

  ‘You lie in the convalescent ward

  Of No-Man’s sanatorium.’

  A bell rang and the day came in

  And every sleeper woke,

  Peered through a slit in his bandages

  As the four walls spoke.

  Samuel Cramer looked at his own full length,

  Saw that his long length was bandaged whole,

  And he looked again at the narrow benches

  And said, ‘Who are you all?’

  ‘Who are you all?’ cried Samuel Cramer,

  ‘And what were the ailments

  That brought you to lie in this dormitory

  All bound in hellish cerements?’

  ‘I am No Man,’ said one, ‘but I was a miller.

  For several centuries I stood and ground

  The daily grind, and was getting tired of it

  Just when I met with my true friend,

  Who being a miller of high ability

  Turned the course of a whole river

  To turn my mill, and still in my dreams I glorify

  Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’

  ‘I was a soldier,’ said another; ‘now I am No Man;

  Served in all the big wars in every land

  From Gaul to Brazil. Was working my ticket

  Just when I met up with my true friend.

  Now he was a soldier could take on an army

  With catapult, cutlass or cartridge, and never

  Came but he killed, and still I glorify

  Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’

  ‘I was a scholar,’ another said, ‘early Dispontium

  Was my special department, and I had come to the end,

  As I had thought, of research on Dispontine manners

  Just when I met my true and learned friend,

  Who pointed out a significant point when he

  In course of research was of course the first to discover

  The Dispontii ate cross-legged, therefore I glorify

  Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’

  ‘I was one’, said the next, ‘who gathered impressions,

  And now I am No Man, but there was a day

  When I sat on the steps of cultural buildings

  And watched the people passing by;

  So bored, I almost would have done something about it.

  But another sat beside me, and silent together

  We communed with each other, so I glorify

  Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’

  ‘I knew the Industry inside-out

  And now am No Man,’ said another,

  ‘But still I remember things were tight

  Until I took up with a business partner.

  He was a brilliant man, definitely.

  Take his sales record. Look at the clever

  Way he shoved those shares around. I glorify

  Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’

  ‘Now one and all,’ cried Samuel Cramer,

  ‘In Manuela de Monteverde’s name

  I say he is a feverish poet

  In the middle year of his time.’

  Then each one cried, ‘You false witness’,

  And each sat up to testify

  In Manuela de Monteverde’s name,

  And each one said, ‘You lie.’

  ‘You lie, you lie’, cried each to each,

  And each to each arose,

  And they had fallen all on all

  And felled them with bitter blows.

  They ripped them bandages from bone,

  They ripped them bone and hair:

  They were not done till everyone

  Lay level in a smear.

&nbs
p; The bones lay loose on the white zinc floor

  In Manuela de Monteverde’s name,

  All in the convalescent ward

  Of No-Man’s sanatorium.

  All in the convalescent ward

  Of No-Man’s sanatorium

  A bell rang and the night came in

  And settled over them.

  ‘Now praise this night,’ cried each to each,

  ‘For I lie so bloodily

  In Manuela de Monteverde’s name,

  And surely I shall die.’

  Samuel Cramer lay on his loose bones,

  Stared out of the window where there was

  The new moon like a pair of surgical forceps

  With the old moon in her jaws.

  And in there came a bandage-roll

  And a bottle of germicide,

  And they had bound the loose bones

  On the narrow benches laid.

  The second day, a bell rang;

  Then each to each called out,

  ‘I fear that there’s no dying here

  But I shall rip your throat.’

  And filament from ligament were parted

  When in there came a roll of bandages

  And a little bottle of disinfectant

  To bind them up on narrow benches.

  And the third day they turned again,

  And they had hacked them bone from bone.

  ‘I see three ghosts,’ cried Samuel Cramer then,

  ‘They do not come too soon.’

  ‘I see three ghosts,’ cried Samuel Cramer,

  ‘And they have come too slow.

  The one is Manuela de Monteverde.

  The next is the Fanfarlo.

  The third is a fiend that hovers behind,

  And he is no man that I know.’

  Then in there came a bottle of germicide

  With a roll of bandages,

  All in the convalescent ward

  To bind them up regardless.

  III

  There was a sound of breathlessness by dawn;

  Asthmatical, it changed into a yawn,

  And Manuela de Monteverde bore

  His bulky vapour up against the door.

  Excogitated, it was tiresome

  Being the fattest ghost in Christendom;

  Looked at the narrow benches with regret,

  Shuffled and lit a stubble cigarette.

  And underneath an airy domino

  Rattled the members of the Fanfarlo,

  The ancient vertebrae inflexible

  Still she contrived a clamorous pas seul;

  Scattered her jewels in their sockets loose

  That fell about her height in bright disuse.

  All up and down the convalescent ward

  Came she a fabulous camelopard.

  And there was another that hovered behind.

  It was a fog that might have been a fiend

  Or an angel caught in a cataleptic pause

  For all it looked like anything that is.

  And silent, with ambiguous intent,

  This hovered in its own environment.

  The air of No-Man’s sanatorium

  Seemed epileptic by comparison.

  Samuel Cramer rose from his narrow bed.

  ‘Now praise this day at last’, he cried.

  ‘I see Manuela de Monteverde plain

  Though he is fat that once was lean.

  ‘I see you plain, my true friend

  Who come so tardily.

  In No-Man’s sanatorium

  For your sake I lie.

  ‘And daily, daily, for your sake

  I suffer my heart’s bane

  Which is destruction without death,

  Destruction with no pain.

  ‘And whether you were a false friend

  Or whether you were a true,

  Deliver me now from this limbo

  And I shall follow you.

  ‘And I shall follow you night and day

  In the world invisible,

  And were you a false friend or a true,

  I’ll follow in Heaven or in Hell.’

  Manuela de Monteverde spread

  His open palms, sunk in the spongy wrists.

  ‘Speaking as a ghost,’ he said, ‘I am a man

  For whom the visible world exists.

  ‘And if you should follow, my dear fellow,

  No Heaven and no Hell would you see,

  Nor love nor hate where I stagnate

  In a limbo of sympathy.

  ‘True, I was a false friend but first I was a true,

  And I went to the grave, but never could forget

  How all of you have magnified my name;

  I have grown fat on that magnificat.

  ‘And now am stuck in a deadlock of affection,

  And I suppose, so long as I remember

  The glory of man each man will glorify

  Man and destroy him forever.

  ‘So if you must follow, my dear fellow,

  I think you should follow not me,

  For I swear it’s neither here nor there

  In a limbo of sympathy.’

  ‘Oh I must part from you,’ said Samuel Cramer,

  ‘And you must part from me,

  But Manuela de Monteverde

  My heart’s fame will ever be.

  ‘And I shall smite the light of the sun

  And harrow the earth’s face,

  And I’ll contend until I find

  A way to depart in peace.’

  All in the convalescent ward,

  A bony ghost was rattling to and fro.

  ‘I see my long, long, love,’ cried Samuel Cramer,

  ‘And she is the dancing Fanfarlo.

  ‘I see you plain, my long, long, love,

  And gawky is your tread,

  And you have gone to skin and bone

  Since you lay on the fever bed.

  ‘Now whether you were a false love,

  Or whether you were a true;

  Take me away from my misery

  And I shall follow you.

  ‘And I shall follow you day and night

  In the world invisible,

  And were you a false love or a true

  I’ll dance with you in Heaven or in Hell.’

  ‘I can’t stop now,’ said the Fanfarlo,

  ‘Although I’m short of breath,

  For I’m employed on the skeleton staff

  Of the dancing troupe of Death.’

  She passed him by, and her step was high,

  Over her shoulder calling shrill,

  ‘After I lay on the fever bed

  I rose and married well.

  ‘I tired of that, and went to the grave,

  But I could not forget

  My macabaresque that was such a success

  And my famous pirouette,

  ‘Till Death, the talent-scout, took me up,

  And now he hovers at my back

  Like a fiend that looks like nothing on earth,

  And I think that my bones will break.

  ‘So if you would follow, my sweet fellow,

  Be sure it’s your vocation,

  For there’s no peace being caught like this

  In a limbo of agitation.’

  ‘Then you must part from me,’ cried Samuel Cramer,

  ‘And I must part from you,

  But in Heaven or in Hell I shall remember

  The dancing Fanfarlo.

  ‘And I shall shift the files of the stars

  Until the empyreal orders cease,

  And I’ll confound until I find

  A way to depart in peace.’

  All in the convalescent ward

  A silent fog was hovering,

  And it might have been leviathan

  For all it looked like anything.

  ‘Now Death I see you plain,’ said Samuel Cramer,

  ‘Oh you have come too slow.

  Come out like a man and reason with me
r />   For I would reason with you.

  ‘For I am Samuel Cramer,’ he said,

  ‘And I am the natural meridian

  Of a father and mother, north and south,

  And am I not a man?

  ‘Excellently I was virtuous

  And viciously I sinned,

  Slowly, slowly, lost my looks

  Alas, and I’d read all the books

  Before I came to No-Man’s sanatorium

  Where death is in my mind.’

  Then Death spoke courteously to Samuel Cramer,

  And Death said, ‘Are you blind?’

  ‘I am not blind,’ said Samuel Cramer,

  ‘And all things low and great,

  That I have seen beneath the sun

  I never shall forget.

  ‘For I have seen the bright things and the black,

  And I have seen enough

  To make me as fit a man for Heaven

  As I am for Hell, in my belief.’

  Then Death spoke courteously to Samuel Cramer,

  And Death said, ‘Are you deaf?’

  ‘I am not deaf,’ said Cramer,

  ‘And I have listened day and night,

  And every word that I have heard

  I never shall forget.

  ‘For I have heard the innocent voice

  And I have heard the foul,

  And I am as fit a man for Heaven

  As I am fit for Hell.’

  Then Death spoke courteously to Samuel Cramer,

  And Death said, ‘Can you feel?’

  ‘Oh I can feel!’ cried Samuel Cramer,

  ‘For I have fondled cold and heat.

  There’s no transaction in all sensation

  But I have had to do with it.

  ‘For I have drunk the subtle water

  And eaten ruinous bane,

  And I have smelt the melancholy vapour,

  As well as the stanchless fume of carrion.

  Each device of sin and grace

  Has made me and undone.

  ‘Now I am fit to be let beyond the sheer

  Celestial pale, and driven

  Before the glaciers that ride

  All the precipitous streets of Heaven.

  ‘And I am able to handle infernal cosmetics

  And blacken my arms like vile

  Branches that hoe the storm-sky,

  Feverish culture of Hell.

  ‘So I shall follow you night and day

  In the world invisible,

  And speak the fame for all I have done

  To Heaven or to Hell.’

  Then Death spoke courteously to Samuel Cramer,

  And Death said, ‘I admire your memory

  And also the fame of all you have done,

  Likewise your marvellous delivery.

  ‘And for all you are gagged and riven here

  You have my sympathy.

  Now the fittest place for such a case

  Is surely a limbo of memory.’

  ‘But I’ll not go to a limbo,’ cried Samuel Cramer,