"The Visitation" by Arthur Adamson

The Visitation

Death will be no more, neither will mourning nor outcry nor pain be anymore. — Revelation 21:4

by Arthur Adamson

I hear the black wings of mortality beating over my head
I hear hoofbeats in the night   I hear unearthly chords
sometimes it's hard to get up in the morning   especially in January
I'm lying in bed still in my pyjamas thinking
I should get out and do something   something to further history
someone's at the front door   a man and a woman
they are going to try to save me   of course anything is possible
the man tells me God has a message for the world
he reads a passage from Hosea   the two are standing
on my front steps   it's about thirty below
through the door ajar I look at them intently
as the man speaks his gloved finger in the Book
brushes the passage he quotes which is crudely underlined in ink
could these people possibly know something I don't know?
I study them for a clue   they look absolutely ordinary
now it's the women's turn   she tells me about the garden
the tree of knowledge   the serpent   the calamitous fall
outside the sun reverberates in cascades of light
off the snow   it's brilliant enough for an apocalypse
the world is a place of horror   hunger and war
they say   but God is about to change all that
he is going to introduce plenty   joy and peace everlasting
and I am willing to admit that anything is possible
so I thank them   they go   and I wonder   could they have been angels?

from A/Cross Sections: New Manitoba Writing. 2007. Manitoba Writers Guild.


I like this poem a lot, probably because it reads cleanly and has got my bright wintry city in it, as well as promise of the bright comfortable old age I'm hoping for myself. I'm a few years younger than the poet, but we are both retired. Though we never met, we seem to have been at the University of Manitoba in one capacity or another over the same four decades! The poem's got the same kind of religiony stuff I would have picked up as an English student. I doubt if the writer actually got it from the man and woman who came to his door.

The extra spaces are an unpretentious modern touch. At least we would have called it modern half a century ago. I think they work well. The poet has also painted many pleasing pictures in various styles.

(I've copied this poem without seeking permission and will gladly remove it should the copyright holder object. That said, it's a shame how Canadian poets hide their lights under bushels!)