Lit Soc: How I Came to Write a Poem about Pestilence

In this week's Literary Society, Mark Richardson explained how his re-reading of the enigmatic sixteenth century poet and prose stylist, Thomas Nashe, has inspired him to write his own poem 'in time of pestilence'.

Thomas Nashe, 1590s

In Time of Pestilence?

The bodies rose quickly, silently,

Seven of them in a rush, more soon after,

The bright sun catching their scales,

Their eyes blank.

They lay there, unembarrassed

By their own defeat,

Mutely rebuking.

And I was their destroyer.

In the midst of the pond I stood,

Clearing out the weeds I knew

Were choking it.

With virus time to spare, 

And the sun beckoning,

I had started, too late,

To tidy the pond and 

Bring it back to life.

The weeds were densely packed,

Their thick white roots 

Like bleached bones

Easy to pull

From the blackish water.

And then suddenly and everywhere the smell, 

The blunt stench of decay,

Of failure, of death.

The body count rose,

Like some press briefing slide,

Or the bills of deaths

On plague-hit

Seventeenth century London

Street corners:

Horrors that were anything but fresh.

I was COVID.

I had brought this on them.

Their gaze was not easy, 

And plucking them from the water

Was my queasy punishment

For, weeks earlier,

Allowing the water level

To drop too far,

Trapping them together

As they sheltered.

And still the sun shone.

The colours around were strong,

The air was gentle and warm.

The pond is cleaner now,

Clearer too. 

The bodies are stacked 

In the compost,

The water levels high, 

The insects flash in the sun,

The water-irises sing in their

New-found golden petals.

“This world uncertain is,”

Said the poet, from the depths

Of another London plague.

For him even the brightness of the air

Would fall, and the beauty

Of Helen would turn to dust.

As for her, so for him and 

Eventually

So for us.

MPR May 2020

Nashe's poem, 'A Litany in Time of Plague', was written in the 1590s, when the plague was a frequent occurrence in England and throughout Europe.

A Litany in Time of Plague

Adieu, farewell, earth's bliss;

This world uncertain is;

Fond are life's lustful joys;

Death proves them all but toys;

None from his darts can fly;

I am sick, I must die.

        Lord, have mercy on us!

Beauty is but a flower

Which wrinkles will devour;

Brightness falls from the air;

Queens have died young and fair;

Dust hath closed Helen's eye.

I am sick, I must die.

        Lord, have mercy on us!

Strength stoops unto the grave,

Worms feed on Hector brave;

Swords may not fight with fate,

Earth still holds open her gate.

"Come, come!" the bells do cry.

I am sick, I must die.

           Lord, have mercy on us!

Wit with his wantonness

Tasteth death's bitterness;

Hell's executioner

Hath no ears for to hear

What vain art can reply.

I am sick, I must die.

             Lord, have mercy on us!

Haste, therefore, each degree,

To welcome destiny;

Heaven is our heritage,

Earth but a player's stage;

Mount we unto the sky.

I am sick, I must die.

           Lord, have mercy on us!

Thomas Nashe (1590s)