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jueves, 8 de agosto de 2013


Author’s preface --

Poor little me !  In Spanish just appeared 
From a colleague, a list of countless reasons why           
One crazy English bishop must be feared                           
As an enemy of the Faith. “Oh dear !” say I.

For if I do not answer, then, says he,            
That proves me guilty. So, for better or worse,                                      
Let me defend that Brit, but in carefree,     
And not too serious, stichomythic verse.                                                                                                            



The Resistance started well before last year.                
It’s true, and those who blazed the trail are dear.

The harm was there. For years you did not speak.
One always hopes the harm will never peak.

You praised the Motu Proprio – Roman trick !
It’s true. To see the good I was too quick.

You spoke not when good colleagues were expelled.  
Their cause, but not their persons, I upheld. 
You spoke up on Six Million – with what gain ?
A substitute religion’s harm is plain.

You think you draw right-wingers?  No hope there!  
Of their salvation do you quite despair?     


You tell us very little of your past.
Persons and personalities come last. 

Winchester College served the bad Empire.
Elsewhere yourself its teaching you admire.

Your university was a real spies’ nest.
The spying had for me no interest. 
Your guru, Malcolm Muggeridge, was a mole. 
He died a Catholic. Truth was his main goal.
Fabians are wolves, in skins of sheep disguised.
He was no Fabian. Truth he recognized.

The new religion was all he ever knew.
Deeply he thought and prayed. His heart was true.                                                ____________________________   

An agent of the new religion you are !
Not if Archbishop Lefebvre is my lodestar.

Schmidberger, you – two pincers of one crab !
Go tell him that !  He’ll say “Idiotic blab !”
You talk so tough, but just to keep Trads mod.  
Well, judging by the fruits, that’s rather odd.

Your eccentricity is just a mask. 
To poison Catholics ?  Them you need to ask.
British subversion – that’s the key to you.
Subvert the Devil is what I hope to do.

As Seminary Rector good men you drove out.
Most chose to leave. Few did I ever rout.

Spying and the use of terror marked your rule.
Smart seminarians thought me rather a fool.

You helped to expel the Nine, good men and true.
But to th’Archbishop’s line they would not hew. 



Your coat of arms – a rose upon a cross ! 
Therefore  I’m Rosicrucian ?  -- I’m at a loss !
No, no ! The rose obliterates Our Lord !
Heavens above !  And what, the lion and sword ? 
Venice, Venetian usurers they do show.
And where was Sarto Cardinal ?  Do you know ?

Anyway, you share the rose of M I 5.
And so for British Intelligence I live ?


Papal infallibility you deny.
Outside Tradition he cannot work, say I.

Your “re-incommunication” you did greet.
With sweetie-pies one can need to be sweet.

Pope Ben’dict knew not what he did, you say.
A total world in error holds much sway.
You say one Pope can rule two churches. How ?
As one hand could hold apple and rot, right now.
You love Maria Valtorta’s crazy work.
That accusation is one I will not shirk.

All kinds of apparitions make you enthuse.
St Paul said, “Sift, and keep what’s good.”  That’s news ?

New rites of Holy Orders you defend.
On the edge of invalidity they’re penned.

Schmidberger, you, here bent the Archbishop’s mind.
Cath’lic theology makes no-one blind.                                      


Of  Cath’lic Latin America you’re no friend.
In Argentina five years did I spend.

Cath’lic Resistance you just undermine. 
Let time be judge. Its judgment will be mine.

Resistance into a sheer dead end you lead.
I lead it not, despite how many plead.

The Apocalypse is a constant theme of yours.
Our terrible times must give to all of us pause.

You’re British English !  What more need be said ?
When I love not my country, shoot me dead !                                                    


Your abuse, dear Father, I take not amiss.
I pray we meet in everlasting bliss.
But while my anger you may not have stirred,
Be careful of  God -- He judges every word.

RNW, London, 7 August, 2013.