To the Matterhorn

“Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end.”

Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps, 1890

I. Precedent

Sunburnt black, Hemingway
walked for days, his skis
across his back like a crucifix.
And before him Eddy Whymper,
his two unnamed cragsman
and Lord Francis Cooper,
Reverend Hudson, Tangwalder,
Tangwalder: great men dying,
two generations on one rope,
four corpses on the ice.

II. Ascent

All human endeavour
in the funicular’s digestive rush:
headaches along the ridge,
nature leant against us:
water won’t boil, mist appears
like a stack of live/work
apartments. The greatest minds
at altitude, hot winds swing
the gondola, conquering by rote,
an international room.

III. Summit

No wider than a bathmat.
Looking down on clouds,
this will be our screen saver.

IV. Descent

Rosti and swordfish carpaccio
at the midpoint; lifting our flagons
to the sound of bombs. Waitresses
in authentic alpine aprons. Above
the bar, a photo of Whymper, looking
camp and doomed. Our final schuss
down, half-cut, with glory in our lazy
stem turns, humming Ski Sunday,
goggles off – thinking of Ernest –
as we even out our panda tans.