A, a, a Domine Deus

I said, Ah! what shall I write?

I enquired up and down.

                                   (He’s tricked me before

with his manifold lurking-places.)

I looked for His symbol at the door.

I have looked for a long while

                                   at the textures and contours.

I have run a hand over the trivial intersections.

I have journeyed among the dead forms

causation projects from pillar to pylon.

I have tired the eyes of the mind

                                   regarding the colors and lights.

I have felt for His Wounds

                                   in nozzles and containers.

I have wondered for the automatic devices.

I have tested the inane patterns

                                   without prejudice.

I have been on my guard

                                   not to condemn the unfamiliar.

For it is easy to miss Him

                                   at the turn of a civilization.

  I have watched the wheels go round in case I might see the living creatures like the appearance of lamps, in case I might see the Living God projected from the Machine. I have said to the perfected steel, be my sister and for the glassy towers I thought I felt some beginnings of His creature, but A, a, a, Domine Deus, my hands found the glazed work unrefined and the terrible crystal a stage-paste … Eia, Domine Deus.

*C. 1938 and 1966. From David Jones, The Sleeping Lord and other fragments (London: Faber & Faber, 1974), p. 9.