But when I go to warm my hands,
My clumsiness overturns the light,
and then I stumble
Against the tables and chairs.
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I have whetted my brain until it is like a Damascus blade,
So sharp that the air would turn its edgeWere it to be twisted in flight.Licking passions have bitten their arabesques into it,And the mark of them lies, in and out,Worm-like,With the beauty of corroded copper patterning white steel.My brain is curved like a scimitar,And sighs at its cuttingLike a sickle mowing grass.But of what use…
Part First
A storm was rising, heavy gusts of windSwirled through the trees, and scattered leaves beforeHer on the clean, flagged path. The sky behindThe distant town was black, and sharp definedAgainst it shone the lines of roofs and towers,Superimposed and flat like cardboard flowers.A pasted city on a purple ground,Picked out with luminous paint, it seemed….
Goaded and harassed in the factory
Ticked off upon a clock which never stays,Shredding our portion of Eternity,We break away at last, and steal the keyWhich hides a world empty of hours; waysOf space unroll, and Heaven overlaysThe leafy, sun-lit earth of Fantasy.Beyond the ilex shadow glares the sun,Scorching against the blue flame of the sky.Brown lily-pads lie heavy and supineWithin…
‘T is you that are the music, not your song.
Lets forth the pent-up melody inside,Your spirit’s harmony, which clear and strongSings but of you. Throughout your whole life longYour songs, your thoughts, your doings, each divideThis perfect beauty; waves within a tide,Or single notes amid a glorious throng.The song of earth has many different chords;Ocean has many moods and many tonesYet always ocean. In…
Whistle under the water,
I call the bluebirds song into the water:Wee-kee! Wee-kee-kee!Dawn is coming,The morning star shines upon us.Bluebird singing to the West clouds,Bring the humming rain.Water-rattles shake,Flute whistles,Star in Heaven shines.I blow the oriole’s song,The yellow song of the North.I call rain clouds with my rattles:Wee-kee-kee, oriole.Pattering rain.To the South I blow my whistle,To the red parrot…
The Bell in the convent tower swung.
A navel for the curving sky.The air was a blue clarity.Swallows flew,And a cock crew.The iron clanging sank through the light air,Rustled over with blowing branches. A flareOf spotted green, and a snake had goneInto the bed where the snowdrops shoneIn green new-started,Their white bells parted.Two by two, in a long brown line,The nuns were…