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Les Murray

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Visiting Geneva

I came to Geneva
by the bullet train,
up from church kero lamps -
it must have been the bullet train.

I rolled in on a Sunday
to that jewelled circling city
and everything was closed
in the old-fashioned way.

In the city of Palais
and moored Secretariat
I arrived in spring when
the Ferraris come out.

Geneva, refuge of the Huguenots,
Courtauld, Pierrepoint, Haszard,
Boers Joubert and Marais,
Brunel’s young Isambard

and John Calvin, unforgiver
in your Taliban hat
you pervade bare St Peter's
in la France protestante,

Calvin, padlock of the sabbath,
your followers now protect you:
predestination wasn’t yours, they claim,
nor were the Elect you,

but: when you were God
sermons went on all day
without numen or presence.
Children were denied play.

I had fun with your moral snobbery
but your great work's your recruits,
your Winners and Losers. You
turned mankind into suits -

and many denims, messer John.

  

poetrymagazines' note: poem altered to reflect later book published version at the poet's request. This final version appears in Taller When Prone (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2011, New York).

Page(s) 38

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