Seeking Love Mcmlxxi Poem by Terry Collett

Deus amor est
the old monk said
in Latin,

the bell rope
hung in the cloister
Dom Gregory
stood by
waiting to toll
for lunch,

birdsong in the garth
from branches
of the mulberry tree,

I swept and polished
the choir stalls
silence of the church
sunlight through
the high coloured
glass windows,

she whispered
her words to me
in her bed,

Dieu est
l'amour Dieu
d'amour
a French monk said
in monotone,

I sat listening
in the novice room
with Gareth and George
Hugh had not shown,

George told me
the Spanish monk
had told him
that St Bernard said
Dios mismo es la razón
por la que es ser amado,

Dom Joe
by the seashore
with us novices
casting stones
in the incoming tides
and he watching
smiling,

make love again
she said
so I did,

rain poured
down hard
tapping against
the windows
in the refectory
disturbing the monk
who read from the life
of Oliver Cromwell,

η ευτυχία εξαρτάται
από εμάς
Gareth told me
quoting Aristotle
our happiness
is dependant on us
he said in English
rough translation,

eyes closed
she haunted me
and taunted me
like some goddess
of the sea.