James Elroy Flecker

[andave_ya]

I was reading a poetry anthology yesterday and came across some works by a forgotten poet, James Elroy Flecker.

Why does nobody know who he is? I loved what I read very much, and intend to find a book of his poems.

THE OLD SHIPS
I have seen old ships like swans asleep
Beyond the village which men call Tyre,
With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep
For Famagusta and the hidden sun
That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire;
And all those ships were certainly so old
Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun,
Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges,
The pirate Genoese
Hell-raked them till they rolled
Blood, water, fruit and corpses up the hold.
But now through friendly seas they softly run,
Painted the mid-sea blue or shore-sea green,
Still patterned with the vine and grapes in gold.

But I have seen,
Pointing her shapely shadows from the dawn
And image tumbed on a rose-swept bay,
A drowsy ship of some yet older day;
And, wonder's breath indrawn,
Thought I - who knows - who knows - but in that same
(Fished up beyond Ææa, patched up new
- Stern painted brighter blue -)
That talkative, bald-headed seaman came
(Twelve patient comrades sweating at the oar)
From Troy's doom-crimson shore,
And with great lies about his wooden horse
Set the crew laughing, and forgot his course.

It was so old a ship - who knows, who knows?
- And yet so beautiful, I watched in vain
To see the mast burst open with a rose,
And the whole deck put on its leaves again.

TO A POET
A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE

I who am dead a thousand years,
And wrote this sweet archaic song,
Send you my words for messengers
The way I shall not pass along.

I care not if you bridge the seas,
Or ride secure the cruel sky,
Or build consummate palaces
Of metal or of masonry.

But have you wine and music still,
And statues and a bright-eyed love,
And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
And prayers to them who sit above?

How shall we conquer? Like a wind
That falls at eve our fancies blow,
And old Moeonides the blind
Said it three thousand years ago.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my words at night, alone:
I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
To greet you. You will understand.

[JBI]

From reading these poems, I don't feel moved in the slightest, perhaps that is why, but who knows?

Compare the second with Shakespeare's Sonnet 2:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.



This poet seems dependent on cliché and convention, rather than artistic vision.

Borges makes reference to him, in his note on Walt Whitman, but even so, I find that this verse is better forgotten than remembered.

[andave_ya]

:s doubtless to one of your poetic experience his work does seem cliched, but to one who's spent years forced to memorize inane 'inspirational' poems in school Flecker really captured my interest. Having just finished the Iliad, I especially enjoyed "The Old Ships," with its back and forth in the ship's history.

But to each his own. I found it a little humorous that you posted Shakespeare - so far in my reading of Shakespeare I have been unable to find my niche. In other words, I don't like him, at least not yet. Maybe I should sign up for the sonnet a day to get a hint of his poetry instead of his plays.

[AshleyEliz]

From reading these poems, I don't feel moved in the slightest, perhaps that is why, but who knows?

Compare the second with Shakespeare's Sonnet 2:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.



This poet seems dependent on cliché and convention, rather than artistic vision.

Borges makes reference to him, in his note on Walt Whitman, but even so, I find that this verse is better forgotten than remembered.

I disagree, I loved the first poem very much, and I honestly don't think anyone's work is better forgotten.

[JBI]

I disagree, I loved the first poem very much, and I honestly don't think anyone's work is better forgotten.

Then you haven't read enough crappy poetry.

[AshleyEliz]

Then you haven't read enough crappy poetry.

Haha, that may just be true.

I'm sure I'll reach that point soon enough.