Joan Bakewell - James Kirkup Blasphemy Case
British TV presenter Joan Bakewell may face prosecution for blasphemous libel for reading a banned poem on her program Taboo. The poem, "The Love That Dares to Speak its Name" by James Kirkup, is a sexually explicit tale of a Roman centurion having sex with Jesus's corpse after the crucifixion. Read the whole poem printed below.
Kirkup's poem has been at the center of legal battles over obscenity, blasphemy and free speech in Britain before. The Gay News first published the poem in 1976. Gay News publisher Denis Lemon was prosecuted and convicted of blasphemous libel the following year, receiving a £500 fine and a nine-month suspended sentence. In 1996-97, conservative religious figures urged prosecution of the Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement for linking to the poem from its website. LGCM didn't publish the poem, but rather linked to a non-British web page containing the poem. After an eighteen-month investigation, prosecutors declined to bring charges against LGCM. This press release has more about the LGCM case.
The Observer notes, "If Bakewell is prosecuted, it will be a major test of Britain's controversial blasphemy laws which protect only Christians. They were introduced in the seventeenth century, when questioning the existence of the state religion was akin to treason. They have remained unamended ever since." Bakewell says of the broadcast, "I was making a point. You need to show people how sensibilities are offended. It was the very fact that it was to do with Jesus and the disciples that shocked religious people. If you're going to say, 'This is a tacky poem', you have to show it."
The Observer | Alsop Review | News.com | Cyber-Rights & Cyber-Liberties (UK)
The Love That Dares To Speak Its Name
James Kirkup
As they took him from the cross
I, the centurion, took him in my arms —
the tough lean body
of a man no longer young,
beardless, breathless,
but well hung.
He was still warm.
While they prepared the tomb
I kept guard over him.
His mother and the Magdalen
had gone to fetch clean linen
to shroud his nakedness.
I was alone with him.
For the last time
I kissed his mouth. My tongue
found his, bitter with death.
I licked his wound —
the blood was harsh
For the last time
I laid my lips around the tip
of that great cock, the instrument
of our salvation, our eternal joy.
The shaft, still throbbed, anointed
with death's final ejaculation.
I knew he'd had it off with other men —
with Herod's guards, with Pontius Pilate,
With John the Baptist, with Paul of Tarsus
with foxy Judas, a great kisser, with
the rest of the Twelve, together and apart.
He loved all men, body, soul and spirit — even me.
So now I took off my uniform, and, naked,
lay together with him in his desolation,
caressing every shadow of his cooling flesh,
hugging him and trying to warm him back to life.
Slowly the fire in his thighs went out,
while I grew hotter with unearthly love.
It was the only way I knew to speak our love's proud name,
to tell him of my long devotion, my desire, my dread —
something we had never talked about. My spear, wet with blood,
his dear, broken body all open wounds,
and in each wound his side, his back,
his mouth — I came and came and came
as if each coming was my last.
And then the miracle possessed us.
I felt him enter into me, and fiercely spend
his spirit's final seed within my hole, my soul,
pulse upon pulse, unto the ends of the earth —
he crucified me with him into kingdom come.
This is the passionate and blissful crucifixion
same-sex lovers suffer, patiently and gladly.
They inflict these loving injuries of joy and grace
one upon the other, till they die of lust and pain
within the horny paradise of one another's limbs,
with one voice cry to heaven in a last divine release.
Then lie long together, peacefully entwined, with hope
of resurrection, as we did, on that green hill far away.
But before we rose again, they came and took him from me.
They knew not what we had done, but felt
no shame or anger. Rather they were glad for us,
and blessed us, as would he, who loved all men.
And after three long, lonely days, like years,
in which I roamed the gardens of my grief
seeking for him, my one friend who had gone from me,
he rose from sleep, at dawn, and showed himself to me before
all others. And took me to him with
the love that now forever dares to speak its name.
