Down on the cathedrals, as from the Giralda <br />in a land no crueller, and over the walls <br />to domes & river look <br />from Great John's belfry, Ivan-Veliky, <br />whose thirty-one are still <br />to hail who storms no father's throne. Bell, book <br /> <br />& cradle rule, in silence. Hour by hour <br />from time to time with holy oil <br />touch yet the forehead eyelids nose <br />lips ears breast fists of Kruschev, for Christ knows <br />poor evil Kadar, cut, is back in power. <br />Boils his throne. The moujik kneels & votes. <br /> <br />South & east of the others' tombs—where? why, <br />in Arkhanghelsky, on the Baptist's side, <br />lies Brother Jonas (fomrerly Ivan the Terrible), <br />where Brother Josef came with his friend's heart <br />out of such guilt it proved all bearable, <br />and Brother Nikita will come and lie.<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-59-henry-s-meditation-in-the-kremlin/
