Champagne flowing; with pot-valorous speech;
empty featherheads growing ever the noisier,
In their own emptiness, in each others noise.
Champagne flowing; with pot-valorous speech;
empty featherheads growing ever the noisier,
In their own emptiness, in each others noise.
Questionable Camille,
How though glitterest with a fallen, rebellious,* yet still semi-celestial light;
As is the starlight on the brow of Lucifer.
Son of the Morning,
Into what times and what lands art thou fallen.
In full smoke and ashes
Of outburst sensualities,*
Does he live and digest.
Mothers, in worn raiment,
Yet with living hearts under it,
Filled the public places
With their wild Rachel cries.
Parliamentary eloquence and argument,
Greek meeting Greek in high places.
Nothing but what Nature gives her wild children of the desert:
ferocity and appetite;
strength grounded on hunger.
In such succession of singular prismatic tints,
Flush after flush diffusing our horizon,
Does the Era of Hope dawn on towards fulfilment.
Of an intensity and activity,
That sometimes verges towards madness,
Yet does not reach it.
I feel chastened in several ways. As I do not know if these short poems are examples of a verse form I should know but do not recognize, or if they are translations of a classical poet whom, again, I should know, or if they originate with you.
Anyway I look at it, you're a better man (er, person) than I am, Gunga Din.
And what is "Tfr?"
Yer ol' auntie is totally asea.
Will message you Aunty.
One huge motionless cloud
Girdles our whole horizon;
Streams up,
Hairy, copper-edged,
Over a sky of the colour of lead.
One huge motionless cloud
Girdles our whole horizon;
Streams up,
Hairy, copper-edged,
Over a sky of the colour of lead.
All betoiled, besoiled,
Encrusted into dim defacement:
Into whom nevertheless
The breath of the Almighty has breathed a living soul.
Then dying,
Shall through long centuries
Wander as it were,
A disconsolate ghost
On the wrong side of Styx and Lethe
; his name like to outlive Caesar's.
Hope you are fine!
"I seemed to have sensed also from an early age that some of my experiences as a reader would change me more as a person than would many an event in the world where I sat and read. "
Gerald Murnane, Tamarisk Row