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diff --git a/old/50782-0.txt b/old/50782-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 00c23ba..0000000 --- a/old/50782-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2102 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Des Imagistes, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Des Imagistes - An Anthology - -Author: Various - -Release Date: December 28, 2015 [EBook #50782] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DES IMAGISTES *** - - - - -Produced by Jana Srna, Elizabeth Oscanyan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - DES IMAGISTES - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - «Καὶ κείνα Σικελά, καὶ ἐν Αἰτναίαισιν ἔπαιζεν - ἀόσι, καὶ μέλος ᾖδε τὸ Δώριον.» - Επιτάφιος Βίωνος - - “And she also was of Sikilia and was gay in - the valleys of Ætna, and knew the Doric - singing.” - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - DES IMAGISTES - - AN ANTHOLOGY - - - - - - - NEW YORK - ALBERT AND CHARLES BONI - 96 FIFTH AVENUE - 1914 - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - Copyright, 1914 - By - Albert and Charles Boni - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - Choricos 7 - To a Greek Marble 10 - Au Vieux Jardin 11 - Lesbia 12 - Beauty Thou Hast Hurt Me Overmuch 13 - Argyria 14 - In the Via Sestina 15 - The River 16 - Bromios 17 - To Atthis 19 - - H. D. - Sitalkas 20 - Hermes of the Ways I 21 - Hermes of the Ways II 22 - Priapus 24 - Acon 26 - Hermonax 28 - Epigram 30 - - F. S. FLINT - I 31 - II Hallucination 32 - III 33 - IV 34 - V The Swan 35 - - SKIPWITH CANNÉLL - Nocturnes 36 - - AMY LOWELL - In a Garden 38 - - WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS - Postlude 39 - - JAMES JOYCE - I Hear an Army 40 - - EZRA POUND - Δώρια 41 - The Return 42 - After Ch’u Yuan 43 - Liu Ch’e 44 - Fan-Piece for Her Imperial Lord 45 - Ts’ai Chi’h 46 - - FORD MADOX HUEFFER - In the Little Old Market-Place 47 - - ALLEN UPWARD - Scented Leaves from a Chinese Jar 51 - - JOHN COURNOS after K. TETMAIER - The Rose 54 - - DOCUMENTS - To Hulme (T. E.) and Fitzgerald 57 - Vates, the Social Reformer 59 - Fragments Addressed by Clearchus H. to Aldi 62 - - _Bibliography_ 63 - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHORICOS - - - The ancient songs - Pass deathward mournfully. - - Cold lips that sing no more, and withered wreaths, - Regretful eyes, and drooping breasts and wings— - Symbols of ancient songs - Mournfully passing - Down to the great white surges, - Watched of none - Save the frail sea-birds - And the lithe pale girls, - Daughters of Okeanus. - - And the songs pass - From the green land - Which lies upon the waves as a leaf - On the flowers of hyacinth; - And they pass from the waters, - The manifold winds and the dim moon, - And they come, - Silently winging through soft Kimmerian dusk, - To the quiet level lands - That she keeps for us all, - That she wrought for us all for sleep - In the silver days of the earth’s dawning— - Proserpina, daughter of Zeus. - - And we turn from the Kuprian’s breasts, - And we turn from thee, - Phoibos Apollon, - And we turn from the music of old - And the hills that we loved and the meads, - And we turn from the fiery day, - And the lips that were over sweet; - For silently - Brushing the fields with red-shod feet, - With purple robe - Searing the flowers as with a sudden flame, - Death, - Thou hast come upon us. - - And of all the ancient songs - Passing to the swallow-blue halls - By the dark streams of Persephone, - This only remains: - That we turn to thee, - Death, - That we turn to thee, singing - One last song. - - O Death, - Thou art an healing wind - That blowest over white flowers - A-tremble with dew; - Thou art a wind flowing - Over dark leagues of lonely sea; - Thou art the dusk and the fragrance; - Thou art the lips of love mournfully smiling; - Thou art the pale peace of one - Satiate with old desires; - Thou art the silence of beauty, - And we look no more for the morning - We yearn no more for the sun, - Since with thy white hands, - Death, - Thou crownest us with the pallid chaplets, - The slim colourless poppies - Which in thy garden alone - Softly thou gatherest. - - And silently, - And with slow feet approaching, - And with bowed head and unlit eyes, - We kneel before thee: - And thou, leaning towards us, - Caressingly layest upon us - Flowers from thy thin cold hands, - And, smiling as a chaste woman - Knowing love in her heart, - Thou sealest our eyes - And the illimitable quietude - Comes gently upon us. - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - - - - - TO A GREEK MARBLE - - - Πότνια, πότνια - White grave goddess, - Pity my sadness, - O silence of Paros. - - I am not of these about thy feet, - These garments and decorum; - I am thy brother, - Thy lover of aforetime crying to thee, - And thou hearest me not. - - I have whispered thee in thy solitudes - Of our loves in Phrygia, - The far ecstasy of burning noons - When the fragile pipes - Ceased in the cypress shade, - And the brown fingers of the shepherd - Moved over slim shoulders; - And only the cicada sang. - - I have told thee of the hills - And the lisp of reeds - And the sun upon thy breasts, - - And thou hearest me not, - Πότνια, πότνια, - Thou hearest me not. - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - - - - - AU VIEUX JARDIN - - - I have sat here happy in the gardens, - Watching the still pool and the reeds - And the dark clouds - Which the wind of the upper air - Tore like the green leafy boughs - Of the divers-hued trees of late summer; - But though I greatly delight - In these and the water lilies, - That which sets me nighest to weeping - Is the rose and white colour of the smooth flag-stones, - And the pale yellow grasses - Among them. - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - - - - - LESBIA - - - Use no more speech now; - Let the silence spread gold hair above us - Fold on delicate fold; - You had the ivory of my life to carve. - Use no more speech. - . . . . - - And Picus of Mirandola is dead; - And all the gods they dreamed and fabled of, - Hermes, and Thoth, and Christ, are rotten now, - Rotten and dank. - . . . . - - And through it all I see your pale Greek face; - Tenderness makes me as eager as a little child - To love you - - You morsel left half cold on Caesar’s plate. - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - - - - - BEAUTY THOU HAST HURT ME OVERMUCH - - - The light is a wound to me. - The soft notes - Feed upon the wound. - - Where wert thou born - O thou woe - That consumest my life? - Whither comest thou? - - Toothed wind of the seas, - No man knows thy beginning. - As a bird with strong claws - Thou woundest me, - O beautiful sorrow. - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - - - - - ARGYRIA - - - O you, - O you most fair, - Swayer of reeds, whisperer - Among the flowering rushes, - You have hidden your hands - Beneath the poplar leaves, - You have given them to the white waters. - - Swallow-fleet, - Sea-child cold from waves, - Slight reed that sang so blithely in the wind, - White cloud the white sun kissed into the air; - Pan mourns for you. - - White limbs, white song, - Pan mourns for you. - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - - - - - IN THE VIA SESTINA - - - O daughter of Isis, - Thou standest beside the wet highway - Of this decayed Rome, - A manifest harlot. - - Straight and slim art thou - As a marble phallus; - Thy face is the face of Isis - Carven - - As she is carven in basalt. - And my heart stops with awe - At the presence of the gods, - - There beside thee on the stall of images - Is the head of Osiris - Thy lord. - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - - - - - THE RIVER - - - I - - I drifted along the river - Until I moored my boat - By these crossed trunks. - - Here the mist moves - Over fragile leaves and rushes, - Colourless waters and brown fading hills. - - She has come from beneath the trees, - Moving within the mist, - A floating leaf. - - II - - O blue flower of the evening, - You have touched my face - With your leaves of silver. - - Love me for I must depart. - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - - - - - BROMIOS - - - The withered bonds are broken. - The waxed reeds and the double pipe - Clamour about me; - The hot wind swirls - Through the red pine trunks. - - Io! the fauns and the satyrs. - The touch of their shagged curled fur - And blunt horns! - - They have wine in heavy craters - Painted black and red; - Wine to splash on her white body. - Io! - She shrinks from the cold shower— - Afraid, afraid! - - Let the Maenads break through the myrtles - And the boughs of the rohododaphnai. - Let them tear the quick deers’ flesh. - Ah, the cruel, exquisite fingers! - - Io! - I have brought you the brown clusters, - The ivy-boughs and pine-cones. - - Your breasts are cold sea-ripples, - But they smell of the warm grasses. - - Throw wide the chiton and the peplum, - Maidens of the Dew. - Beautiful are your bodies, O Maenads, - Beautiful the sudden folds, - The vanishing curves of the white linen - About you. - - Io! - Hear the rich laughter of the forest, - The cymbals, - The trampling of the panisks and the centaurs. - - RICHARD ALDINGTON. - - - - - TO ATTHIS - - (_After the Manuscript of Sappho now in Berlin_) - - Atthis, far from me and dear Mnasidika, - Dwells in Sardis; - Many times she was near us - So that we lived life well - Like the far-famed goddess - Whom above all things music delighted. - - And now she is first among the Lydian women - As the mighty sun, the rose-fingered moon, - Beside the great stars. - - And the light fades from the bitter sea - And in like manner from the rich-blossoming earth; - And the dew is shed upon the flowers, - Rose and soft meadow-sweet - And many-coloured melilote. - - Many things told are remembered of sterile Atthis. - - I yearn to behold thy delicate soul - To satiate my desire. . . . - . . . . . . . . . . . . - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - - - - - SITALKAS - - - Thou art come at length - More beautiful - Than any cool god - In a chamber under - Lycia’s far coast, - Than any high god - Who touches us not - Here in the seeded grass. - Aye, than Argestes - Scattering the broken leaves. - - H. D. - - - - - HERMES OF THE WAYS - - - I - - The hard sand breaks, - And the grains of it - Are clear as wine. - - Far off over the leagues of it, - The wind, - Playing on the wide shore, - Piles little ridges, - And the great waves - Break over it. - - But more than the many-foamed ways - Of the sea, - I know him - Of the triple path-ways, - Hermes, - Who awaiteth. - - Dubious, - Facing three ways, - Welcoming wayfarers, - He whom the sea-orchard - Shelters from the west, - From the east - Weathers sea-wind; - Fronts the great dunes. - - Wind rushes - Over the dunes, - And the coarse, salt-crusted grass - Answers. - - Heu, - It whips round my ankles! - - II - - Small is - This white stream, - Flowing below ground - From the poplar-shaded hill, - But the water is sweet. - - Apples on the small trees - Are hard, - Too small, - Too late ripened - By a desperate sun - That struggles through sea-mist. - - The boughs of the trees - Are twisted - By many bafflings; - Twisted are - The small-leafed boughs. - But the shadow of them - Is not the shadow of the mast head - Nor of the torn sails. - - Hermes, Hermes, - The great sea foamed, - Gnashed its teeth about me; - But you have waited, - Where sea-grass tangles with - Shore-grass. - - H. D. - - - - - PRIAPUS - - _Keeper-of-Orchards_ - - - I saw the first pear - As it fell. - The honey-seeking, golden-banded, - The yellow swarm - Was not more fleet than I, - (Spare us from loveliness!) - And I fell prostrate, - Crying, - Thou hast flayed us with thy blossoms; - Spare us the beauty - Of fruit-trees! - - The honey-seeking - Paused not, - The air thundered their song, - And I alone was prostrate. - - O rough-hewn - God of the orchard, - I bring thee an offering; - Do thou, alone unbeautiful - (Son of the god), - Spare us from loveliness. - - The fallen hazel-nuts, - Stripped late of their green sheaths, - The grapes, red-purple, - Their berries - Dripping with wine, - Pomegranates already broken, - And shrunken fig, - And quinces untouched, - I bring thee as offering. - - H. D. - - - - - ACON - - (_After Joannes Baptista Amaltheus_) - - - I - - Bear me to Dictaeus, - And to the steep slopes; - To the river Erymanthus. - - I choose spray of dittany, - Cyperum frail of flower, - Buds of myrrh, - All-healing herbs, - Close pressed in calathes. - - For she lies panting, - Drawing sharp breath, - Broken with harsh sobs, - She, Hyella, - Whom no god pitieth. - - II - - Dryads, - Haunting the groves, - Nereids, - Who dwell in wet caves, - For all the whitish leaves of olive-branch, - And early roses, - And ivy wreathes, woven gold berries, - Which she once brought to your altars, - Bear now ripe fruits from Arcadia, - And Assyrian wine - To shatter her fever. - - The light of her face falls from its flower, - As a hyacinth, - Hidden in a far valley, - Perishes upon burnt grass. - - Pales, - Bring gifts, - Bring your Phoenician stuffs, - And do you, fleet-footed nymphs, - Bring offerings, - Illyrian iris, - And a branch of shrub, - And frail-headed poppies. - - H. D. - - - - - HERMONAX - - - Gods of the sea; - Ino, - Leaving warm meads - For the green, grey-green fastnesses - Of the great deeps; - And Palemon, - Bright striker of sea-shaft, - Hear me. - - Let all whom the sea loveth, - Come to its altar front, - And I - Who can offer no other sacrifice to thee - Bring this. - - Broken by great waves, - The wavelets flung it here, - This sea-gliding creature, - This strange creature like a weed, - Covered with salt foam, - Torn from the hillocks - Of rock. - - I, Hermonax, - Caster of nets, - Risking chance, - Plying the sea craft, - Came on it. - - Thus to sea god - Cometh gift of sea wrack; - I, Hermonax, offer it - To thee, Ino, - And to Palemon. - - H. D. - - - - - EPIGRAM - - (_After the Greek_) - - - The golden one is gone from the banquets; - She, beloved of Atimetus, - The swallow, the bright Homonoea: - Gone the dear chatterer. - - H. D. - - - - - I - - - London, my beautiful, - it is not the sunset - nor the pale green sky - shimmering through the curtain - of the silver birch, - nor the quietness; - it is not the hopping - of birds - upon the lawn, - nor the darkness - stealing over all things - that moves me. - - But as the moon creeps slowly - over the tree-tops - among the stars, - I think of her - and the glow her passing - sheds on men. - - London, my beautiful, - I will climb - into the branches - to the moonlit tree-tops, - that my blood may be cooled - by the wind. - - F. S. FLINT - - - - - II - - - I know this room, - and there are corridors: - the pictures, I have seen before; - the statues and those gems in cases - I have wandered by before,— - stood there silent and lonely - in a dream of years ago. - - I know the dark of night is all around me; - my eyes are closed, and I am half asleep. - My wife breathes gently at my side. - - But once again this old dream is within me, - and I am on the threshold waiting, - wondering, pleased, and fearful. - Where do those doors lead, - what rooms lie beyond them? - I venture. . . . - - But my baby moves and tosses - from side to side, - and her need calls me to her. - - Now I stand awake, unseeing, - in the dark, - and I move towards her cot. . . . - I shall not reach her . . . There is no direction. . . . - I shall walk on. . . . - - F. S. FLINT - - - - - III - - - Immortal? . . . No, - they cannot be, these people, - nor I. - - Tired faces, - eyes that have never seen the world, - bodies that have never lived in air, - lips that have never minted speech, - they are the clipped and garbled, - blocking the highway. - They swarm and eddy - between the banks of glowing shops - towards the red meat, - the potherbs, - the cheapjacks, - or surge in - before the swift rush - of the clanging trams,— - pitiful, ugly, mean, - encumbering. - - Immortal? . . . - In a wood, - watching the shadow of a bird - leap from frond to frond of bracken, - I am immortal. - - But these? - - F. S. FLINT - - - - - IV - - - The grass is beneath my head; - and I gaze - at the thronging stars - in the night. - - They fall . . . they fall. . . . - I am overwhelmed, - and afraid. - - Each leaf of the aspen - is caressed by the wind, - and each is crying. - - And the perfume - of invisible roses - deepens the anguish. - - Let a strong mesh of roots - feed the crimson of roses - upon my heart; - and then fold over the hollow - where all the pain was. - - F. S. FLINT - - - - - V - - - Under the lily shadow - and the gold - and the blue and mauve - that the whin and the lilac - pour down on the water, - the fishes quiver. - - Over the green cold leaves - and the rippled silver - and the tarnished copper - of its neck and beak, - toward the deep black water - beneath the arches, - the swan floats slowly. - - Into the dark of the arch the swan floats - and into the black depth of my sorrow - it bears a white rose of flame. - - F. S. FLINT - - - - - NOCTURNES - - - I - - Thy feet, - That are like little, silver birds, - Thou hast set upon pleasant ways; - Therefore I will follow thee, - Thou Dove of the Golden Eyes, - Upon any path will I follow thee, - For the light of thy beauty - Shines before me like a torch. - - - II - - Thy feet are white - Upon the foam of the sea; - Hold me fast, thou bright Swan, - Lest I stumble, - And into deep waters. - - - III - - Long have I been - But the Singer beneath thy Casement, - And now I am weary. - I am sick with longing, - O my Belovéd; - Therefore bear me with thee - Swiftly - Upon our road. - - - IV - - With the net of thy hair - Thou hast fished in the sea, - And a strange fish - Hast thou caught in thy net; - For thy hair, - Belovéd, - Holdeth my heart - Within its web of gold. - - - V - - I am weary with love, and thy lips - Are night-born poppies. - Give me therefore thy lips - That I may know sleep. - - - VI - - I am weary with longing, - I am faint with love; - For upon my head has the moonlight - Fallen - As a sword. - - SKIPWITH CANNÉLL - - - - - IN A GARDEN - - - Gushing from the mouths of stone men - To spread at ease under the sky - In granite-lipped basins, - Where iris dabble their feet - And rustle to a passing wind, - The water fills the garden with its rushing, - In the midst of the quiet of close-clipped lawns. - - Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone, - Where trickle and plash the fountains, - Marble fountains, yellowed with much water. - - Splashing down moss-tarnished steps - It falls, the water; - And the air is throbbing with it; - With its gurgling and running; - With its leaping, and deep, cool murmur. - - And I wished for night and you. - I wanted to see you in the swimming-pool, - White and shining in the silver-flecked water. - While the moon rode over the garden, - High in the arch of night, - And the scent of the lilacs was heavy with stillness. - - Night and the water, and you in your whiteness, bathing! - - AMY LOWELL - - - - - POSTLUDE - - - Now that I have cooled to you - Let there be gold of tarnished masonry, - Temples soothed by the sun to ruin - That sleep utterly. - Give me hand for the dances, - Ripples at Philæ, in and out, - And lips, my Lesbian, - Wall flowers that once were flame. - - Your hair is my Carthage - And my arms the bow - And our words arrows - To shoot the stars, - Who from that misty sea - Swarm to destroy us. - But you’re there beside me - Oh, how shall I defy you - Who wound me in the night - With breasts shining - Like Venus and like Mars? - The night that is shouting Jason - When the loud eaves rattle - As with waves above me - Blue at the prow of my desire! - O prayers in the dark! - O incense to Poseidon! - Calm in Atlantis. - - WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS - - - - - I HEAR AN ARMY - - - I hear an army charging upon the land, - And the thunder of horses plunging; foam about their knees: - Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand, - Disdaining the rains, with fluttering whips, the Charioteers. - - They cry into the night their battle name: - I moan in sleep when I hear afar their whirling laughter. - They cleave the gloom of dreams, a blinding flame, - Clanging, clanging upon the heart as upon an anvil. - - They come shaking in triumph their long grey hair: - They come out of the sea and run shouting by the shore. - My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair? - My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone? - - JAMES JOYCE - - - - - ΔΏΡΙΑ - - - Be in me as the eternal moods - of the bleak wind, and not - As transient things are— - gaiety of flowers. - Have me in the strong loneliness - of sunless cliffs - And of grey waters. - Let the gods speak softly of us - In days hereafter, - The shadowy flowers of Orcus - Remember Thee. - - EZRA POUND - - - - - THE RETURN - - - See, they return; ah, see the tentative - Movements, and the slow feet, - The trouble in the pace and the uncertain - Wavering! - - See, they return, one, and by one, - With fear, as half-awakened; - As if the snow should hesitate - And murmur in the wind - and half turn back; - These were the “Wing’d-with-Awe,” - Inviolable. - - Gods of the winged shoe! - With them the silver hounds - sniffing the trace of air! - Haie! Haie! - These were the swift to harry; - These the keen-scented; - These were the souls of blood. - - Slow on the leash, - pallid the leash-men! - - EZRA POUND - - - - - AFTER CH’U YUAN - - - I will get me to the wood - Where the gods walk garlanded in wisteria, - By the silver-blue flood move others with ivory cars. - There come forth many maidens - to gather grapes for the leopards, my friend. - For there are leopards drawing the cars. - - I will walk in the glade, - I will come out of the new thicket - and accost the procession of maidens. - - EZRA POUND - - - - - LIU CH’E - - - The rustling of the silk is discontinued, - Dust drifts over the courtyard, - There is no sound of footfall, and the leaves - Scurry into heaps and lie still, - And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them: - - A wet leaf that clings to the threshold. - - EZRA POUND. - - - - - FAN-PIECE FOR HER IMPERIAL LORD - - - O fan of white silk, - clear as frost on the grass-blade, - You also are laid aside. - - EZRA POUND - - - - - TS’AI CHI’H - - - The petals fall in the fountain, - the orange coloured rose-leaves, - Their ochre clings to the stone. - EZRA POUND. - - - - - IN THE LITTLE OLD MARKET-PLACE - - _(To the Memory of A. V.)_ - - - It rains, it rains, - From gutters and drains - And gargoyles and gables: - It drips from the tables - That tell us the tolls upon grains, - Oxen, asses, sheep, turkeys and fowls - Set into the rain-soaked wall - Of the old Town Hall. - - The mountains being so tall - And forcing the town on the river, - The market’s so small - That, with the wet cobbles, dark arches and all, - The owls - (For in dark rainy weather the owls fly out - Well before four), so the owls - In the gloom - Have too little room - And brush by the saint on the fountain - In veering about. - - The poor saint on the fountain! - Supported by plaques of the giver - To whom we’re beholden; - His name was de Sales - And his wife’s name von Mangel. - - (Now is he a saint or archangel?) - He stands on a dragon - On a ball, on a column - Gazing up at the vines on the mountain: - And his falchion is golden - And his wings are all golden. - He bears golden scales - And in spite of the coils of his dragon, without hint of alarm or - invective - Looks up at the mists on the mountain. - - (Now what saint or archangel - Stands winged on a dragon, - Bearing golden scales and a broad bladed sword all golden? - Alas, my knowledge - Of all the saints of the college, - Of all these glimmering, olden - Sacred and misty stories - Of angels and saints and old glories . . . - Is sadly defective.) - The poor saint on the fountain . . . - - On top of his column - Gazes up sad and solemn. - But is it towards the top of the mountain - Where the spindrifty haze is - That he gazes? - Or is it into the casement - Where the girl sits sewing? - There’s no knowing. - - Hear it rain! - And from eight leaden pipes in the ball he stands on - That has eight leaden and copper bands on, - There gurgle and drain - Eight driblets of water down into the basin. - - And he stands on his dragon - And the girl sits sewing - High, very high in her casement - And before her are many geraniums in a parket - All growing and blowing - In box upon box - From the gables right down to the basement - With frescoes and carvings and paint . . . - - The poor saint! - It rains and it rains, - In the market there isn’t an ox, - And in all the emplacement - For waggons there isn’t a waggon, - Not a stall for a grape or a raisin, - Not a soul in the market - Save the saint on his dragon - With the rain dribbling down in the basin, - And the maiden that sews in the casement. - - They are still and alone, - _Mutterseelens_ alone, - And the rain dribbles down from his heels and his crown, - From wet stone to wet stone. - It’s grey as at dawn, - And the owls, grey and fawn, - Call from the little town hall - With its arch in the wall, - Where the fire-hooks are stored. - - From behind the flowers of her casement - That’s all gay with the carvings and paint, - The maiden gives a great yawn, - But the poor saint— - No doubt he’s as bored! - Stands still on his column - Uplifting his sword - With never the ease of a yawn - From wet dawn to wet dawn . . . - - FORD MADOX HUEFFER - - - - - SCENTED LEAVES FROM A CHINESE JAR - - - THE BITTER PURPLE WILLOWS - -Meditating on the glory of illustrious lineage I lifted up my eyes and -beheld the bitter purple willows growing round the tombs of the exalted -Mings. - - THE GOLD FISH - - Like a breath from hoarded musk, - Like the golden fins that move - Where the tank’s green shadows part— - Living flames out of the dusk— - Are the lightning throbs of love - In the passionate lover’s heart. - - THE INTOXICATED POET - -A poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue, spoke thus: “More -fragrant than the heliotrope, which blooms all the year round, better -than vermilion letters on tablets of sendal, are thy kisses, thou shy -one!” - - THE JONQUILS - -I have heard that a certain princess, when she found that she had been -married by a demon, wove a wreath of jonquils and sent it to the lover -of former days. - - THE MERMAID - -The sailor boy who leant over the side of the Junk of Many Pearls, and -combed the green tresses of the sea with his ivory fingers, believing -that he had heard the voice of a mermaid, cast his body down between the -waves. - - THE MIDDLE KINGDOM - -The emperors of fourteen dynasties, clad in robes of yellow silk -embroidered with the Dragon, wearing gold diadems set with pearls and -rubies, and seated on thrones of incomparable ivory, have ruled over the -Middle Kingdom for four thousand years. - - THE MILKY WAY - -My mother taught me that every night a procession of junks carrying -lanterns moves silently across the sky, and the water sprinkled from -their paddles falls to the earth in the form of dew. I no longer believe -that the stars are junks carrying lanterns, no longer that the dew is -shaken from their oars. - - THE SEA-SHELL - -To the passionate lover, whose sighs come back to him on every breeze, -all the world is like a murmuring sea-shell. - - THE SWALLOW TOWER - -Amid a landscape flickering with poplars, and netted by a silver stream, -the Swallow Tower stands in the haunts of the sun. The winds out of the -four quarters of heaven come to sigh around it, the clouds forsake the -zenith to bathe it with continuous kisses. Against its sun-worn walls a -sea of orchards breaks in white foam; and from the battlements the birds -that flit below are seen like fishes in a green moat. The windows of the -Tower stand open day and night; the winged Guests come when they please, -and hold communication with the unknown Keeper of the Tower. - - ALLEN UPWARD - - - - - THE ROSE - - -I remember a day when I stood on the sea shore at Nice, holding a -scarlet rose in my hands. - -The calm sea, caressed by the sun, was brightly garmented in blue, -veiled in gold, and violet, verging on silver. - -Gently the waves lapped the shore, and scattering into pearls, emeralds -and opals, hastened towards my feet with a monotonous, rhythmical sound, -like the prolonged note of a single harp-string. - -High in the clear, blue-golden sky hung the great, burning disc of the -sun. - -White seagulls hovered above the waves, now barely touching them with -their snow-white breasts, now rising anew into the heights, like -butterflies over the green meadows . . . - -Far in the east, a ship, trailing its smoke, glided slowly from sight as -though it had foundered in the waste. - -I threw the rose into the sea, and watched it, caught in the wave, -receding, red on the snow-white foam, paler on the emerald wave. - -And the sea continued to return it to me, again and again, at last no -longer a flower, but strewn petals on restless water. - -So with the heart, and with all proud things. In the end nothing remains -but a handful of petals of what was once a proud flower . . . - - JOHN COURNOS after K. TETMAIER - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - DOCUMENTS - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TO HULME (T. E.) AND FITZGERALD - - - Is there for feckless poverty - That grins at ye for a’ that! - A hired slave to none am I, - But under-fed for a’ that; - For a’ that and a’ that, - The toils I shun and a’ that, - My name but mocks the guinea stamp, - And Pound’s dead broke for a’ that. - - Although my linen still is clean, - My socks fine silk and a’ that, - Although I dine and drink good wine— - Say, twice a week, and a’ that; - For a’ that and a’ that, - My tinsel shows and a’ that, - These breeks ’ll no last many weeks - ’Gainst wear and tear and a’ that. - - Ye see this birkie ca’ed a bard, - Wi’ cryptic eyes and a’ that, - Aesthetic phrases by the yard; - It’s but E. P. for a’ that, - For a’ that and a’ that, - My verses, books and a’ that, - The man of independent means - He looks and laughs at a’ that. - - One man will make a novelette - And sell the same and a’ that. - For verse nae man can siller get, - Nae editor maun fa’ that. - For a’ that and a’ that, - Their royalties and a’ that, - Wib time to loaf and will to write - I’ll stick to rhyme for a’ that. - - And ye may prise and gang your ways - Wi’ pity, sneers and a’ that, - I know my trade and God has made - Some men to rhyme and a’ that, - For a’ that and a’ that, - I maun gang on for a’ that - Wi’ verse to verse until the hearse - Carts off me wame and a’ that. - -WRITTEN FOR THE CENACLE OF 1909 VIDE INTRODUCTION TO “THE COMPLETE -POETICAL WORKS OF T. E. HULME,” PUBLISHED AT THE END OF “RIPOSTES.” - - - - - VATES, THE SOCIAL REFORMER - - - What shall be said of him, this cock-o’-hoop? - (I’m just a trifle bored, dear God of mine, - Dear unknown God, dear chicken-pox of Heaven, - I’m bored I say), But still—my social friend— - (One has to be familiar in one’s discourse) - While he was puffing out his jets of wit - Over his swollen-bellied pipe, one thinks, - One thinks, you know, of quite a lot of things. - - (Dear unknown God, dear, queer-faced God, - Queer, queer, queer, queer-faced God, - You blanky God, be quiet for half minute, - And when I’ve shut up Rates, and sat on Naboth, - I’ll tell you half a dozen things or so.) - - There goes a flock of starlings— - Now half a dozen years ago, - (Shut up, you blighted God, and let me speak) - I should have hove my sporting air-gun up - And blazed away—and now I let ’em go— - It’s odd how one changes; - Yes, that’s High Germany. - - But still, when he was smiling like a Chinese queen, - Looking as queer (I do assure you, God) - As any Chinese queen I ever saw; - And tiddle-whiddle-whiddling about prose, - Trying to quiz a mutton-headed poetaster, - And choking all the time with politics— - Why then I say, I contemplated him - And marveled (God! I marveled, - Write it in prose, dear God. Yes, in red ink.) - And marveled, as I said, - At the stupendous quantity of mind - And the amazing quality thereof. - - Dear God of mine, - It’s really most amazing, doncherknow, - But really, God, I _can’t_ get off the mark; - Look here, you queer-faced God, - This fellow makes me sick with all his talk, - His ha’penny gibes at Celtic bards - And followers of Dante—honest folk!— - Because, dear God, the rotten beggar goes - And makes a Chinese blue-stocking - From half-digested dreams of Munich-air. - And then—God, why should I write it down?— - But Rates and Naboth - Aren’t half such silly fools as he is (God) - For they are frankly asinine, - While he pretends to sanity, - Modernity, (dear God, dear God). - - It’s bad enough, dear God of mine, - That you have set me down in London town, - Endowed me with a tattered velvet coat, - Soft collar and black hat and Greek ambitions; - You might have left me there. - - But now you send - This “vates” here, this sage social reformer - (Yes, God, you rotten Roman Catholic) - To put his hypothetical conceptions - Of what a poor young poetaster would think - Into his own damned shape, and then to attack it - To his own great contemplative satisfaction. - What have I done, O God, - That so much bitterness should flop on me? - Social Reformer! That’s the beggar’s name. - He’d have me write bad novels like himself. - - Yes, God, I know it’s after closing time; - And yes, I know I’ve smoked his cigarettes; - But watch that sparrow on the fountain in the rain. - How half a dozen years ago, - (Shut up, you blighted God, and let me speak) - I should have hove my sporting air-gun up - And blazed away—and now I let him go— - It’s odd how one changes; - Yes, that’s High Germany. - - R. A. - - - - - FRAGMENTS ADDRESSED BY CLEARCHUS H. TO ALDI - - - Πωετριε - Πρικε φιφτεεν κενξ - π. 43 - - Ἰ ἁυε σατ ἑρε ἁρριε ἰν μι ἀρμχαιρ - (πύτνηβυς, πύτνηβυς) (1) - ὐατχινγ θε στιλλ Ηουνδ ἀνδ θε κιδ - ὐιθ θε δαρκ ἁιρ - ὑιχ θε ὐινδ ὀφ μι ὐπραισεδ ὐοικε - τορε λικε ἀ γρεεν ματτεδ μεσς - (Ὠ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι) (2) - ὀφ ὐετ κοβυεβς ἀνδ σεαυεεδ ἀτ τυιλιγτ, - βυτ τὁυγ Ἰ γρεατλιε δελιγτεδ - (ἠράμαν μὲν ἐγὼ σέθεν, Ἀλδί, πάλαι πότα) (3) - ἰν θησε ἀνδ θε Ἐζρα ὑισκέρς - τἁτ ὑιχ σετς με νιρεστ το ὐεεπινγ - (ὁ δὲ Κλέαρχος εἶπε) (4) - ἰς θε κλασσικαλ ῥυθμ ὀφ θε ραρε σπεεχες, - Ὠ θε ὐνσπωκεν σπεεχες - Ἑλλενικ. - - NOTES. (1) A vehicle conducting passengers from Athens, - the capital of Greece, to the temple of the winds, - which stands in a respectable suburb. - (2) Rendered by Butler, “O God! O Montreal!” - (3) Sappho!!!!!! - (4) Xenophon’s Anabasis. - F. M. H. - - - Pôetrie - Prike phiphteen kenx - p. 43 - - I haue sat here harrie in mi armchair - (putnêbus, putnêbus) (1) - uatching the still Êound and the kid - uith the dark hair - huich the uind oph mi upraised uoike - tore like a green matted mess - (Ô andres Athênaioi) (2) - oph uet kobuebs and seaueed at tuiligt, - but thoug I greatlie deligted - (êraman men egô sethen, Aldi, palai pota) (3) - in thêse and the Ezra huiskers - that huich sets me nirest to ueeping - (ho de Klearchos eipe) (4) - is the klassikal rhythm oph the rare speeches, - Ô the unspôken speeches - Hellenik. - - - Poetry - Price fifteen cents - p. 43 - - I have sat here Harry in my armchair - (Putney-bus, Putney-bus) (1) - watching the still hound and the kid - with the dark hair - which the wind of my upraised voice - tore like a green matted mess - (Ô andres Athênaioi) (2) - of wet cobwebs and seaweed at twilight, - but though I greatly delighted - (êraman men egô sethen, Aldi, palai pota) (3) - in these and the Ezra whiskers - that which sets me nearest to weeping - (ho de Klearchos eipe) (4) - is the classical rhythm of the rare speeches, - O the unspoken speeches - Hellenic. - - - - - BIBLIOGRAPHY - - -F. S. FLINT—“The Net of the Stars.” Published by Elkin Mathews, 4 Cork - St., London, W. - -EZRA POUND—Collected Poems (Personae, Exultations, Canzoni, Ripostes). - Published by Elkin Mathews. - -TRANSLATIONS: - - “The Sonnets and Ballate of Guido Cavalcanti.” Published by - Small, Maynard & Co., Boston. - - The Canzoni of Arnaut Daniel. R. F. Seymour & Co., Fine Arts - Bldg., Chicago. - -PROSE: - - “The Spirit of Romance.” A study of mediaeval poetry. Dent & Sons. - London. - -FORD MADOX HUEFFER—“Collected Poems.” Published by Max Goschen, 20 Gt. - Russel St., London. Forty volumes of prose with various publishers. - -ALLEN UPWARD—Author of “The New Word,” “The Divine Mystery,” etc., etc. - - The “Scented Leaves” appears in “Poetry” for September 1913. - -WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS—“The Tempers.” Published by Elkin Mathews. - -AMY LOWELL—“A Dome of Many Coloured Glass.” Published by Houghton, - Mifflin, Boston. - - - - - Transcriber's Notes - -On page 37, "popies" was replaced by "poppies". - -The humorous poem written with Greek characters on page 62 has also been -rendered in their Latin equivalents for the benefit of those who cannot -pronounce the Greek and also in Latin look-alikes. It appears that, in -the first line, the rho's should have been pi's, making the 5th word -=ἁππιε= or =happie=; it was left as printed. Or, this might have been -addressed to the editor of "Poetry" whose name was Harriet Monroe. - -Minor typographical errors have been corrected without comment. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Des Imagistes, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DES IMAGISTES *** - -***** This file should be named 50782-0.txt or 50782-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/7/8/50782/ - -Produced by Jana Srna, Elizabeth Oscanyan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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