The Eye Of The Universe

by Clive James and Pete Atkin

I have been where time runs into time
And so partaken of the vanished glamour
I've seen Atlantis and the perfect crime
Felt eloquence replace my mental stammer
Seen every evil brought beneath the hammer
In this mood all that Faust desired is mine

I am the eye with which the universe beholds itself
And knows itself divine

I have been to see my death prepare
Inside a Packard, somnolently cruising
A sure-fire way of giving me the air
And totting up exactly what I'm losing
Found such an end not too far from my choosing
I have settled up with Charon at the Styx
I am the eye with which the universe beholds itself
And knows itself a fix

I've crossed an atlas with the Golden Horde
Seen all the Seven Cities of Cibola
Olympus was a geriatric ward
The Promised Land is just the old payola
It's all the same shellac, the same Victrola
Eternity should have more in the bag
I am the eye with which the universe beholds itself
And knows itself a drag

I have been where age runs into age
Have seen the children burned, the slaves in halters
The cutting edge is wearing off my rage
I leave them their strange gods, their reeking altars
And the way the Reign of Terror never falters
They were fighting for the right to count the slain
I am the eye with which the universe beholds itself
And knows itself insane

I have seen the gentle meet the savage day
In the sunlight on the spandrels of the towers
And in the moonlight very far away
The honeymoon canoe glide through the flowers
And the party left behind go on for hours
For a while things were as peaceful as they seemed
I am the eye with which the universe beholds itself
And knows itself redeemed

I am the eye with which the universe beholds itself

Note (from Collected Poems)

In Shelley’s poem ‘Hymn of Apollo’ it is the narrator who says ‘I am the eye with which the universe/ Beholds itself and knows it is divine.’ (A variant printing is ‘knows itself divine’ which is the one I borrowed.) Shelley might just as well have said it of himself. With varying degrees of tact, it is a belief all poets share: why else work so hard for so little reward? From personal knowledge of the narrator, however, I know him to have been lying when he said that he had found himself ‘redeemed’. High on the list of things I have never believed is the Wagnerian notion of redemption, but I still find it astonishing that Pete could give such integrated melodies to so much written evidence of inner fragmentation.