Why The Heathen Rage 1970 Poem by Terry Collett

I watch the black bats fly
in and out of the cloisters
on my way to the church
for Compline,

perché la rabbia
dei pagani? ,

smell of incense after Mass
and the tall monk
holding the host
with a shaking hand
attempting to place
on the tongue
of a fellow monk,

et les gens imaginent
une chose vaine?

I sit in the church
taking in the high windows
and sunlight peering through
on to the flagstones,

por qué los paganos
se enfurecen?

closing my eyes
I hear the bells tolling
for the office of None
wondering who tolled
who was pulling
the bell ropes,

et populi meditati
sunt inania? ,

Dom Joe finding me
in the common room
reading Merton
said puoi venire e provare
la tua vocazione
which I did
the following year,

the French peasant monk
wheeling a wheelbarrow
with tonsured head bowed
and features set
in a heavenly tone,

in caelesti sono,

the heathen rage
and others imagine
some vain thing,

I sigh deeply
listening
to the monks sing.