Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs,
Rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys,
Advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm,
Retreating to the corner of arm and knee,
Eager to be reassured, taking pleasure
In the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree,
Pleasure in the wind, the sunlight and the sea;
Studies the sunlit pattern on the floor
And running stags around a silver tray;
Confounds the actual and the fanciful,
Content with playing-cards and kings and queens,
What the fairies do and what the servants say.
The heavy burden of the growing soul
Perplexes and offends more, day by day;
Week by week, offends and perplexes more
With the imperatives of ‘is and seems’
And may and may not, desire and control.
The pain of living and the drug of dreams
Curl up the small soul in the window seat
Behind the Encyclopaedia Britannica.
Issues from the hand of time the simple soul
Irresolute and selfish, misshapen, lame,
Unable to fare forward or retreat,
Fearing the warm reality, the offered good,
Denying the importunity of the blood,
Shadow of its own shadows, spectre in its own gloom,
Leaving disordered papers in a dusty room;
Living first in the silence after the viaticum.
Pray for Guiterriez, avid of speed and power,
For Boudin, blown to pieces,
For this one who made a great fortune,
And that one who went his own way.
Pray for Floret, by the boarhound slain between the yew trees,
Pray for us now and at the hour of our birth.
Marina
Quis hic locus, quae
regio, quae mundi plaga?
What seas what shores what grey rocks and what islands
What water lapping the bow
And scent of pine and the woodthrush singing through the fog
What images return
O my daughter.
Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning
Death
Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird, meaning
Death
Those who sit in the sty of contentment, meaning
Death
Those who suffer the ecstasy of the animals, meaning
Death
Are become unsubstantial, reduced by a wind,
A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog
By this grace dissolved in place
What is this face, less clear and clearer
The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger —
Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye
Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet
Under sleep, where all the waters meet.
Bowsprit cracked with ice and paint cracked with heat.
I made this, I have forgotten
And remember.
The rigging weak and the canvas rotten
Between one June and another September.
Made this unknowing, half conscious, unknown, my own.
The garboard strake leaks, the seams need caulking.
This form, this face, this life
Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me
Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,
The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.
What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers
And woodthrush calling through the fog
My daughter.
The Cultivation of Christmas Trees
There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Some of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
The rowdy (the pubs being open till midnight),
And the childish — which is not that of the child
For whom the candle is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the tree
Is not only a decoration, but an angel.
The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder
At the Feast as an event not accepted as a pretext;
So that the glittering rapture, the amazement
Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree,
So that the surprises, delight in new possessions
(Each one with its peculiar and exciting smell),
The expectation of the goose or turkey
And the expected awe on its appearance,
So that the reverence and the gaiety
May not be forgotten in later experience,
In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium,
The awareness of death, the consciousness of failure,
Or in the piety of the convert
Which may be tainted with a self-conceit
Displeasing to God and disrespectful to the children
(And here I remember also with gratitude
St. Lucy, her carol, and her crown of fire):
So that before the end, the eightieth Christmas
(By ‘eightieth’ meaning whichever is the last)
The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.
UNFINISHED POEMS
Sweeney Agonistes
Fragments of an Aristophanic Melodrama
Orestes: You don’t see them, you don’t — but I see them: they are hunting me down, I must move on.
Choephoroi.
Hence the soul cannot be possessed of the divine union, until it has divested itself of the love of created beings.
St. John of the Cross.
* * *
Fragment of a Prologue
DUSTY. DORIS.
DUSTY: How about Pereira?
DORIS: What about Pereira?
I don’t care.
DUSTY: You don’t care!
Who pays the rent?
DORIS: Yes he pays the rent
DUSTY: Well some men don’t and some men do
Some men don’t and you know who
DORIS:You can have Pereira
DUSTY: What about Pereira?
DORIS: He’s no gentleman, Pereira:
You can’t trust him!
DUSTY: Well that’s true.
He’s no gentleman if you can’t trust him
And if you can’t trust him —
Then you never know what he’s going to do.
DORIS: No it wouldn’t do to be too nice to Pereira.
DUSTY: Now Sam’s a gentleman through and through.
DORIS: I like Sam
DUSTY: I like Sam
Yes and Sam’s a nice boy too.
He’s a funny fellow
DORIS: He is a funny fellow
He’s like a fellow once I knew.
He could make you laugh.
DUSTY: Sam can make you laugh:
Sam’s all right
DORIS: But Pereira won’t do.
We can’t have Pereira
DUSTY: Well what you going to do?
TELEPHONE: Ting a ling ling
Ting a ling ling
DUSTY: That’s Pereira
DORIS: Yes that’s Pereira
DUSTY: Well what you going to do?
TELEPHONE: Ting a ling ling
Ting a ling ling
DUSTY: That’s Pereira
DORIS: Well can’t you stop that horrible noise?
Pick up the receiver
DUSTY: W
hat’ll I say?
DORIS: Say what you like: say I’m ill,
Say I broke my leg on the stairs
Say we’ve had a fire
DUSTY: Hello Hello are you there?
Yes this is Miss Dorrance’s flat —
Oh Mr. Pereira is that you? how do you do!
Oh I’m so sorry. I am so sorry
But Doris came home with a terrible chill
No, just a chill
Oh I think it’s only a chill
Yes indeed I hope so too —
Well I hope we shan’t have to call a doctor
Doris just hates having a doctor
She says will you ring up on Monday
She hopes to be all right on Monday
I say do you mind if I ring off now
She’s got her feet in mustard and water
I said I’m giving her mustard and water
All right, Monday you’ll phone through.
Yes I’ll tell her. Good bye. Goooood bye.
I’m sure, that’s very kind of you.
Ah-h-h
DORIS: Now I’m going to cut the cards for to-night.
Oh guess what the first is
DUSTY: First is. What is?
DORIS: The King of Clubs
DUSTY: That’s Pereira
DORIS: It might be Sweeney
DUSTY: It’s Pereira
DORIS: It might just as well be Sweeney
DUSTY: Well anyway it’s very queer.
DORIS: Here’s the four of diamonds, what’s that mean?
DUSTY: (reading) ‘A small sum of money, or a present
Of wearing apparel, or a party’.
That’s queer too.
DORIS: Here’s the three. What’s that mean?
DUSTY: ‘News of an absent friend’. — Pereira!
DORIS: The Queen of Hearts! — Mrs. Porter!
DUSTY: Or it might be you
DORIS: Or it might be you
We’re all hearts. You can’t be sure.
It just depends on what comes next.
You’ve got to think when you read the cards,
It’s not a thing that anyone can do.
DUSTY: Yes I know you’ve a touch with the cards
What comes next?
DORIS: What comes next. It’s the six.
DUSTY: ‘A quarrel. An estrangement. Separation of friends’.
DORIS: Here’s the two of spades.
DUSTY: The two of spades!
THAT’S THE COFFIN!!
DORIS: THAT’S THE COFFIN?
Oh good heavens what’ll I do?
Just before a party too!
DUSTY: Well it needn’t be yours, it may mean a friend.
DORIS: No it’s mine. I’m sure it’s mine.
I dreamt of weddings all last night.
Yes it’s mine. I know it’s mine.
Oh good heavens what’ll I do.
Well I’m not going to draw any more,
You cut for luck. You cut for luck.
It might break the spell. You cut for luck.
DUSTY: The Knave of Spades.
DORIS: That’ll be Snow
DUSTY: Or it might be Swarts
DORIS: Or it might be Snow
DUSTY: It’s a funny thing how I draw court cards —
DORIS: There’s a lot in the way you pick them up
DUSTY: There’s an awful lot in the way you feel
DORIS: Sometimes they’ll tell you nothing at all
DUSTY: You’ve got to know what you want to ask them
DORIS: You’ve got to know what you want to know
DUSTY: It’s no use asking them too much
DORIS: It’s no use asking more than once
DUSTY: Sometimes they’re no use at all.
DORIS: I’d like to know about that coffin.
DUSTY: Well I never! What did I tell you?
Wasn’t I saying I always draw court cards?
The Knave of Hearts!
(Whistle outside of the window.)
Well I never
What a coincidence! Cards are queer!
(Whistle again.)
DORIS: Is that Sam?
DUSTY: Of course it’s Sam!
DORIS: Of course, the Knave of Hearts is Sam!
DUSTY (leaning out of the window): Hello Sam!
WAUCHOPE: Hello dear
How many’s up there?
DUSTY: Nobody’s up here
How many’s down there?
WAUCHOPE: Four of us here.
Wait till I put the car round the corner
We’ll be right up
DUSTY: All right, come up.
DUSTY (to DORIS): Cards are queer.
DORIS: I’d like to know about that coffin.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
DORIS. DUSTY. WAUCHOPE. HORSFALL. KLIPSTEIN. KRUMPACKER.
WAUCHOPE: Hello Doris! Hello Dusty! How do you do!
How come? how come? will you permit me —
I think you girls both know Captain Horsfall —
We want you to meet two friends of ours,
American gentlemen here on business.
Meet Mr. Klipstein. Meet Mr. Krumpacker.
KLIPSTEIN: How do you do
KRUMPACKER: How do you do
KLIPSTEIN: I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance
KRUMPACKER: Extremely pleased to become acquainted
KLIPSTEIN: Sam — I should say Loot Sam Wauchope
KRUMPACKER: Of the Canadian Expeditionary Force —
KLIPSTEIN: The Loot has told us a lot about you.
KRUMPACKER: We were all in the war together
Klip and me and the Cap and Sam.
KLIPSTEIN: Yes we did our bit, as you folks say,
I’ll tell the world we got the Hun on the run
KRUMPACKER: What about that poker game? eh what Sam?
What about that poker game in Bordeaux?
Yes Miss Dorrance you get Sam
To tell about that poker game in Bordeaux.
DUSTY: Do you know London well, Mr. Krumpacker?
KLIPSTEIN: No we never been here before
KRUMPACKER: We hit this town last night for the first time
KLIPSTEIN: And I certainly hope it won’t be the last time.
KRUMPACKER: Do we like London? do we like London!
Do we like London!! Eh what Klip?
KLIPSTEIN: Say, Miss — er — uh — London’s swell.
We like London fine.
KRUMPACKER: Perfectly slick.
DUSTY: Why don’t you come and live here then?
KLIPSTEIN: Well, no, Miss — er — you haven’t quite got it
(I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch your name —
But I’m very pleased to meet you all the same) —
London’s a little too gay for us
Yes I’ll say a little too gay.
KRUMPACKER: Yes London’s a little too gay for us
Don’t think I mean anything coarse —
But I’m afraid we couldn’t stand the pace.
What about it Klip?
KLIPSTEIN: You said it, Krum.
London’s a slick place, London’s a swell place,
London’s a fine place to come on a visit —
KRUMPACKER: Specially when you got a real live Britisher
A guy like Sam to show you around.
Sam of course is at home in London,
And he’s promised to show us around.
Fragment of an Agon
SWEENEY. WAUCHOPE. HORSFALL. KLIPSTEIN.
KRUMPACKER. SWARTS. SNOW. DORIS. DUSTY.
SWEENEY: I’ll carry you off
To a cannibal isle.
DORIS: You’ll be the cannibal!
SWEENEY: You’ll be the missionary!
You’ll be my little seven stone missionary!
I�
��ll gobble you up. I’ll be the cannibal.
DORIS: You’ll carry me off? To a cannibal isle?
SWEENEY: I’ll be the cannibal.
DORIS: I’ll be the missionary.
I’ll convert you!
SWEENEY: I’ll convert you!
Into a stew.
A nice little, white little, missionary stew.
DORIS: You wouldn’t eat me!
SWEENEY: Yes I’d eat you!
In a nice little, white little, soft little, tender little,
Juicy little, right little, missionary stew.
You see this egg
You see this egg
Well that’s life on a crocodile isle.
There’s no telephones
There’s no gramophones
There’s no motor cars
No two-seaters, no six-seaters,
No Citroën, no Rolls-Royce.
Nothing to eat but the fruit as it grows.
Nothing to see but the palmtrees one way
And the sea the other way,
Nothing to hear but the sound of the surf.
Nothing at all but three things
DORIS: What things?
SWEENEY: Birth, and copulation and death.
That’s all, that’s all, that’s all, that’s all,
Birth, and copulation, and death.
DORIS: I’d be bored.
SWEENEY: You’d be bored.
Birth, and copulation, and death.
DORIS: I’d be bored.
SWEENEY: You’d be bored.
Birth, and copulation, and death.
That’s all the facts when you come to brass tacks:
Birth, and copulation, and death.
I’ve been born, and once is enough.
You don’t remember, but I remember,
Once is enough.
SONG BY WAUCHOPE AND HORSFALL
SWARTS AS TAMBO. SNOW AS BONES
Under the bamboo
Bamboo bamboo
Under the bamboo tree
Two live as one
One live as two
Two live as three
Under the bam
Under the boo
Under the bamboo tree.
Where the breadfruit fall
And the penguin call
And the sound is the sound of the sea
Under the bam
Under the boo
Under the bamboo tree
Where the Gauguin maids
In the banyan shades
Wear palmleaf drapery
Under the bam
Under the boo
Under the bamboo tree.