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Nero Before the Tomb of Simon Magus
And Peter, looking steadfastly against Simon, said: “I
adjure you, ye angels of Satan, who are carrying him
into the air, to deceive the hearts of the unbelievers, by
the God that created all things, and by Jesus Christ,
whom on the third day He raised from the dead, no
longer from this hour to keep him up, but to let him go.”
And immediately, being let go, he fell into a place called
Sacra Via, that is, Holy Way, and was divided into four
parts, having perished by an evil fate. Then Nero
ordered Peter and Paul to be put in irons, and the body
of Simon to be carefully kept three days, thinking that he
would rise on the third day.
—Acts of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul
I.
Three days she’s laid there, clawing at the dust
Outside his tomb. Insane with grief or else
Bewitched, she spits out bitter prophecies
And bares her teeth at those who stray too close.
They say this ragged whore seduced a god
—Indeed, the Holy God Himself, some say—
A god who fell to earth, a god who died
And lies at rest inside this borrowed tomb.
And now, she claims he’ll raise himself from death,
Re-join those shattered bones and crown himself
Caesar of all creation, now and ever.
.
II.
Caesar of all creation—how absurd!
What fraud or fool would dare claim such while I
Draw breath and worship none but my own Will?
What god or man could lust as Nero lusts:
As one who’d banquet on the flesh of gods
And quaff the blood of Persian emperors,
Who would defile the source of all creation
And take the universe for his own whore?
Compared to one who could but close his eyes
And kill the world, can any claim to live?
None are but I; the rest exist to serve.
.
III.
Fear not the stinking corpse behind the stone—
Let him play Caesar to the hungry worms!
And may his harlot curse her careless faith
When she is given to my goatish guards—
They’ll soon despoil her of those modest charms.
And what of that dour, rustic sorcerer
Who claims to wield no power of his own
Yet uttered but a word and broke the spell?
The crowd might like to see him torn to pieces
By starving beasts, or better—crucified;
Everyone loves the cross these days, it seems.
.
IV.
But neither blood nor terror slake my thirst
As they once did; they only seem to feed
That dread of varlet night and fresh damnation
In dreams of desperate flight down vagrant streets,
Pursued by grinning men with gleaming knives
Whose choking laughter turns to mother’s sobbing.
Then, as the first blade strikes, a new sun rises
And all the horrors of the night demand
Revenge upon the innocence of day.
Some say the grave brings peace from fear and lust
But if we’re doomed to dream in death, what then?
.
V.
What if our yearnings hint at something higher:
A final resting place, but not in death—
No, not in death, but in the fundament
Of life itself, eternal and divine;
A love unspoiled, which hides behind creation
Yet sets its highest shrine inside each heart?
And if it would some day reveal itself,
To show to us that we are loved in kind,
Then it could only come to us as man
And should we spurn this love then surely we
Are damned to die forever and a day—
.
VI.
Ah, but look now: she rises as they roll
Away the stone and steps up to the threshold.
She cries her Lord’s sweet name: “Dear Simon—come!”
And strains to see into the black beyond,
Anticipating his most tender kiss.
There is no answer, just the mournful stench
Of his corruption on the stale, warm air.
A thousand whining flies emerge and whirl
In maddening circles but, like foolish thoughts,
They quickly scatter as their awful hum
Is swallowed by her bright, exquisite scream.
.
.
Shaun C. Duncan is a picture framer and fine art printer who lives in Adelaide, South Australia.
Reading this poem felt like being in the time and space.
Thank you, Ben. I know it’s an unpleasant place but I hope you enjoyed your brief stay there!
This is truly a fictive artifact in every sense. It is an impersonal dramatic-monologue narrative based on history, it carefully constructs itself with imagined details, it uses an elevated register of language, the speaker reveals both his personality and his moral character, and its imagery is striking (and very shocking), especially in section VI.
This is the polar opposite of warm, cutesy-poo, let’s-all-feel-good poetry.
I struggled with this one and for a while lost all perspective on the piece. I had no idea how it would be received but you’ve kindly reassured me that I managed to achieve what I originally set out to do. Thank you.
What a great way to tell a story, I really enjoyed reading this poem, thank you!
agree
Thank you, Yael. I’m glad you enjoyed it!
Shaun, blank verse is a superb choice for this vivid narrative, and probably the only form that could fully convey its dread. Oh, the horror of the final stanza!
You are a master.
Thank you for the kind words, Mary. Blank verse was the only choice for me – as you point out, rhyme would only undercut the horror. I’m glad to hear the final stanza had the impact I was striving for.
Unremittingly ugly, Shaun. Appropriate for the speaker, and very difficult to do. Such a filthy scene works by contrast with exalted persons and events far in the background. Hints of them appear just enough to suggest blasphemy (again, a crime the speaker would be pleased to commit). When the exalted truth occurs to him in stanza V, you have him say “fundament” to befoul his statement of it, before he is again distracted by present putrescence. Disgustingly done!
Thank you, Margaret. I found it challenging to write and the final product is edited down from a first draft that was twice as long. I originally attempted to have Nero rationalise his way to the revelation in stanza 5 but his voice quickly grew monotonous and the piece started to lose that sense of ironic contrast between the ravings of the antichrist and the truth we know is waiting just outside of his view. Realising that the poem is about the offering and rejection of grace rather than a philosophical monologue allowed me to tighten things up.
Hi Shaun,
I liked “goatish guards” – that’s inspiration!
Also, the end of stanza IV reminded me of Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy. Anytime you can channel Shakespeare that’s a plus!
Thank you, Jeremiah. I’m glad you liked the phrase “goatish guards” – it was a late addition and I was pleased with it!
I did not enjoy this story but of course that doesn’t mean it isn’t a great poem.
The following two lines alone speak volumes as to the nature of evil,
‘Who would defile the source of all creation and take the universe for its own whore’ and they seem apt as to what is happening in the world at the present time. In fact I cannot think of a better description for rapacious greed and arrogance.Thank you, even though I didn’t enjoy it , it really has made me think.
Thank you for taking the time to read it, Mia. I very much wanted Nero to give voice to the evil which surrounds us today and also our tendency to reject things we intuitively know to be true because they appear to be contradicted by our senses.
Shaun, this is powerful, beautifully written, impactful poetry that transforms words into images that shimmer before the eyes in all their horrific splendor.
Thank you so much, Susan – I found it difficult to write and such a generous comment means a lot to me.
Ironic juxtaposition running through this, the similarities and contrasts with the delusion of the theme and the glorious Resurrection of the real King of creation. He too had His chief mourners; I think especially of St. Mary Magdalen.
The line “Everyone loves the cross these days, it seems” brings it to an especially fine point, with the cult of the Cross secretly, inexorably, rising at this time in history.
And the “bright, exquisite scream” at the end, as the delusion shatters in climactic anti-climax.
Really amazing.
Thank you, Monika. I’d hoped that irony would come through without having to labour the point too much. “Everyone loves the cross” seemed like a bit of an indulgence at first, but I like the idea that Nero has no idea of the crucial role the persecutions he inaugurated will have in spreading the faith.
I hope you send the poem to this year’s SCP International Poetry Competition!
This poem is so good I can barely follow it. What have you been drinking? What have you been thinking?