by Rebecca Lowe
And I saw the seven angels which stood before God; and to them were given seven trumpets. (Revelation 8:2)
Germany April 4, 2015:
A lone girl looks up into the sky:
The sound, a metallic groaning,
Like somebody put the keys
in a rusted ignition.
In Bristol, they refer to it
as 'the Bristol hum',
A rumbling accompaniment
that hovers on the breeze
Reports come in from other places:
Canada, Ukraine, Germany, Australia, Belarus
In Montana, USA,
A man wakes up screaming,
Describing it as 'like ancient gears shifting'
Theories are formulated:
Power lines, electromagnetic radiation,
The sounds of the Earth’s cracking crust,
Or (my favourite), the mating call
of a male Midshipman fish.
YouTube videos spring up,
With the attendant comments:
'They are weapons hidden among us'
'Super creepy!' 'Weird!’
Conspiracy theories form.
From my bedroom, in my half sleep,
A noise like a hunting horn,
One long blast, then three
repeated, in sharp succession,
A final note, almost like weeping,
Sweeping in across the bay,
The sound of a shofar
calling to worship.
I dream of angels.
This poem is from Our Father Eclipse, by Rebecca Lowe, just published by Culture Matters.
It is a pseudo-apocalyptic, eco-socialist, dystopian vision of the world. Framed amid the realities of global pandemic and climate emergency, it speaks to a post-truth political era where neoliberal capitalism is clearly and dramatically failing. Dark, yet edged with hope, it contains questions of faith, belief and truth at its heart. Visionary and observational by turns, it is both unsettling and provocative, full of radical passion and revolutionary compassion.
The book is available here, and will be launched on 13th April at 7pm via Zoom. The link will be posted on the Home page.