Basel

We move with measured rhythm,
Regulated, constrained, discreet;
We do not like surprises.
Money, at least, we understand,
And see no evil in it;
Are we not honourable men?
Stealthy hands go about their work,
Counting riches, treasures untold,
And the dyer is become the chemist,
Trapped inside the glass.
Mad dreams lurk in the banker’s eyes,
And crimes beyond comprehension or forgiveness,
Secrets steeped in blood and offal,
Buried in quicklime, in the dark.
Under the bland facades are lysergic dreams,
Visions form the fungus, other dimensions,
Parallel universes spinning,
Angels and demons, ecstasy and despair.
Who are you? Merchant, philosopher, emperor, bishop,
The masked fool reciting satirical verses,
The demon in the carnival parade.
The Wheel of Fortune turns above the doorway
Of the Münster, where the angel sounds a trumpet
To wake the dead, and elephants bathe in the Rhine.
The wild man, the lion and the griffon
Dance on the bridge, to the sound of a drum,
Picking out the steps with ritual precision.
The Tongue King at the bridge-gate
Rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue
To greet each traveller entering the city.
In the tapestry The Garden of Love,
Two lovers play cards in a summer pavilion:
He slaps down his card, anticipating defeat-
“That last card of yours was a good one!”-
And she, holding victory in her hands,
Smiles, “And it’s won me the game!”
Crowds of people join the Dance of Death,
All heading for the charnel house,
Men and women of all sorts and trades,
Obeying the music, moving as one.
What lies do you tell? What vows do you break?
What supercilious glories do you forge?
Silent thief, see the coinage in your palm,
The gold teeth of skeletons, glinting.