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Poems (1931)

By John Gray
 

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1

ODE

Open, opal doors,
mists that roaming strew
long unvisited moors;
open, womb of the rain, lap of the dew;
let run this most sweet limpid string;
let steal its winding course
through
peat and moss
the slender hidden force;
and the bird sing, sing,
even to a note unheard in the unflecked blue,
to a still listening ear,
where hillocks roll and grasses toss
in the light, wistful year.
New-born, rillet, start to run.
See, caught by the sun,
a gnat alighting trace
innumerable wrinkles on its hand-breadth face;
see it swerve
to shun a miniature rock;
a counter shock
has tangled all those ripples into lace;
diamonds flash
and darken on a stronger curve
and heavy swing. Recoil.
A clear way and a sudden dash.

2

Now swirling recollection.
Clouted weeds embroil
its passage in a slow dejection.
Run, rivulet, upon a path of pebbles.
Pause.
Meditate.
Absorb the light;
gather dreadful weight;
rush with impetus new volume trebles.
Heaped the impatient water gnaws
enthrottling banks;
springs to freedom and expanse.
Unless along its marges
its flow is scarcely visible for poise;
its shallow clarity
the universe enlarges,
till the pole dive to unreality.
All, unless the inspiring sun,
but water has a voice;
hum and rustling in a rhythm unknown,
inviting to rejoice.
Empty the ears of every soft sound
in the moss,
in the air around;
from the eyes
banish the vision of repose,
when the waters narrow and rise,

3

with an action of fetched breath,
and, rounded, plunge as to the hazard of death.
Glassy column and sheet
stand rigid at their fiercest speed;
crash and explode at their feet;
growl and churn;
and climb the slippery stair;
to return,
and recede
in skeins of incredible hair;
around exhilarated, absent flesh
hiss and swish afresh.
A cool slide
into a well-like, deep, tree-shaded pool;
where a school
of light and dark flecks play and hide.
Flow, placid stream,
past birches at the brim;
islet and stony holm,
divide the water pendant branches comb;
borne away
fall'n flowers, and dropped scales
which served their day.
Lo, a seed,
provided in an hour of need
for flight or navigation, gaily sails.
Some frequent and monotonous jar,
call, bark or thud,

4

echoes against a cliff afar,
behind a wood.
Patient and attentive, hush
every murmur; break
silently in alcoves of moaning reed and rush;
sweep to obliteration over the pebbly bar.
The lake.
Not such a long descent
of many assembled rills,
but the republic lies in craterous hollowed hills;
where the toppling, the precipitous,
those of even pace,
the slow,
are for a long day pent.
Come all to a metamorphic flow,
they wind, heavily changing place;
and in their winding smother
one another,
and knot with other selves ubiquitous.
Grope upon the uneven prison floor;
deeper haunts and darker cells explore;
fill unechoing caves;
break, waves,
where banks are steep;
sob, sob along the tantalizing shore,
so low a sudden onrush were escape;
sink and almost sleep;

5

drown without place or shape.
Roam on the common face of the many waters' fate;
move at the will of the breeze;
rustle like the trees
in the liquid wind.
Float as a stony plate,
till the sun rescind
work in the stagnant air
of the jewel-making frost,
with never a care
for its cunning crossed.
The sun in its strength
lifts from the lake's defenceless length
shadowless clouds;
anon,
come evening, and of the crossed beams of sun and moon
no ray longer warms,
these are seen forms
some call elves;
which, suiting the notion, as they glide
among themselves,
from side to side
lean, and swaying swing like shrouds
of nightly dancers, nor yet less light.
The child has reported the sight and gone to bed;
the sport is over the night-breeze led;
spirits that were never there

6

fold their garments in the air,
lay them flat and smooth as they ever were.
Out gallops a riderless stream.
Its long delay
a sleep and a dream.
Now is it night and day;
now is it winter and spring;
wild or meek as they run
the waters stagger and swing,
pitch and fold,
answering in diamonds and gold
to the rays of the sun;
echoing the sky
where they lie
tranquil and deep in a torn rock trough;
enticing enough
to strip the young of their shirts and shoes.
Come, earth-born too,
dive in the mellow flood;
sting your skin;
startle your blood;
here is matter to gambol in.
‘You have seen the sky never more blue;
you have seen the salmon leap
as a fierce silver C;
you have heard the blackcock's angry call,
the curlew's mournful trill;

7

where a million living creatures thrive,
where scarcely rocks sleep,
what is awake and alive
and not you?
‘What would you do;
where would you be;
would you forgo or lose
the birthright of all?’
Farewell, swamp and glen,
dappled hills,
sundew and midge.
With longer strides
to the ways and the towns of men;
to the bellowing sea,
to its salt and rocking tides;
to serve snoring mills
in tangled gloom;
polish the smooth sides
of long embankment walls;
thread narrow arches
between arrow-faced buttresses.
Dare hinder it now, the river
through burst banks sprawls,
turning fields to unbidden meres;
waking sleeping engineers
with the nightmare fall
of a new steel bridge,
over which loaded lorries and powerful cars

8

should have raced to help and doom.
By what marshalled force and forced marches
how to deliver
the threatened metropolis,
and obliterate the scars?
Beyond the last town
shapeless dimensions all but lie;
weariness of mud brown
listlessly returns the colours of the sky.
Undaintily, long loaded jetties tread
in shallow filth, to find
the groping channel in its bed.
Its voice no more than a weak lap, an inarticulate moan;
films of ooze from fouler depths renewed,
a bobbing horror by squawking gulls pursued,
replenish its fetid breath;
in the watches of death
with riches piled and honour strown.
Dredgers grind.
Traders skulk
and await the signal to discharge
petrol or ores.
Pass it in the time in which a barge
fulfils its freight of stores
for a distant hulk.
While windmills still gesticulate,
dim, motionless, the river seems to wait

9

upon the first salt kisses of the ocean's lips;
where a white pharos heeds the ships.

10

POEM

[_]

(In north Iceland, August, 1914, two friends saw a woman returning from work in the manner described. The concluding incident explained her haste to arrive.)

There was a woman riding hard,
tense form and shawl-wrapt head,
like one from leisure long debarred
craving food and bed.
White in the landscape moved the spot,
the gallant beast she rode
through the late light, for night was not,
winding with the road.
The movement marked her rough, young breath;
restless, impatient heels,
devouring miles of track-scarred heath;
zest a rider feels.
A willing race with day's dim close
the little charger strode.
What Sigrunn, Signy, Sigurros
like a valkyr rode?
The eager rider slackens pace
arriving at the stead;

11

dismounting swings her leg with grace
over Faxi's head.
Discharged, the horse without a pause
drops his great neck to feed;
the woman up the bank withdraws;
nor gives him heed.
But we two not alone observe
the bleak world's lonely guest;
the riding woman's scorn and nerve;
dash for home and rest.
For now, with synchronizing speed,
another woman storms
obliquely down the field to meet
mother and empty arms;
bearing a baby bundled up,
and brandished like a torch;
or proffered as it were a cup,
brimming at a porch.
Ride as a gleaner of the slain;
ride for a light through gloom;
hug and nuzzle and hug again
fruit of the womb.

12

ON AQUEDUCTS

Along the mountain let a shepherd guide
your twice-shod feet by tracks his slow sheep mark
in all their generations feeding wide,
bulking and whitening in the gathering dark.
Wherever in broad gullies steep screes hide
their guile in silent cataracts of stones
mistrust their poise; and watch his nimble stride;
slide merrily when the rustling torrent runs.
Great boulders wedge and pile; protruding crags
exasperate the rough, laborious stair.
Where men must cling and crawl, the leisured stags
are stepping lightly in the ambient air.
Or halt. A deeply breathing world is hush
in mellow splendour vast, unless their sound
is audible where many waters rush,
and gash the rocks with many an ancient wound.
These are your quarry. You it is invade
their old dominion in the tangled moss
and sulking, stagnant swamps. Your pick and spade
make deep your lines which cut their flows across.
While with one gesture you assemble rills,
and lead the wayward waters at your will,

13

and steal the verdure of a hundred hills,
with anxious greed continuing thirsty still,
with yet another seize the greatest lake
may lie convenient at your grasping hand,
and all its riches ruthless overtake
to realize the scheme your mind has planned.
With many-handed industry employ
your servile engines. Tear the mountains down
in serviceable blocks; uproot; destroy;
and stack the plunder of your building stone.
For now you must assault the great lake's marge;
and build a rampart on its shelving shores;
and bar the route by which it would discharge
the over-brimming drainage of the moors.
Buttress the walls against the heavy freight
they bear anon: the drops and bubbles, borne
by all those busy aqueducts you late
contrived, of which the weeping hills are shorn.
Take the earth. Draw your fascinating line
from where men herd and thirsting eyes look up
for water wistfully, at the just incline,
even to the lip of that vast rock-bound cup.
Its shadow as supposed will leap and sag

14

and lie, on accidents of rolling ground;
stretch your surveying chain, and drive a peg
at each length, till the leagues are all upwound.
Marshall your slaves along the chosen route;
and let them lay a causeway for the wains;
for these will pass for years with bread and fruit,
and basketfuls of relish for their pains.
Great piers support the channels in the air
by which the streams beneficent shall roll.
Look to it that, for glory, these declare
whatever majesty is in your soul.
For once upon a distant time to be,
when small men wonder at your antique ways,
that you should dream and fashion mightily,
these, whole or ruined, yet shall be your praise.
Your milliped is so disposed to ram
its trough-head hard against the mighty doors
which open where your river cuts the dam
through which the strained & measured water pours.
Let the king's heart rejoice at grace and strength,
blessed provision of the garnered rain,
when the perfected instrument at length
stalks the descending hills and strides the plain.

15

Watched as its nature asks it, for an age
pure floods of great refreshment pouring through
its cavities, your conduit will assuage
parched Birmingham and sweltering Timbuctoo.

16

COUNTRY GENTLEMEN

There was a tree so yellow
against a sky so blue
you could not call a fellow
to match those two.
Another was so coral
in such an emerald mass
that almost any examiner
would have to let it pass.
But when Sir Sanquhar Bolover
(or any name you please)
the trees of every colour
sank reverently upon their knees.

17

HELICHRYSUM

Its whiteness speaks of edelweiss,
the white above another white,
and dusty millers' downy eyes
which hold and feed upon the light;
as if to iridescent flour
a pearl were pestled in a shell;
its petals, the mysterious flower,
are scales and pearls and light as well;
or petals of an English rose
were mirrored in a silver dish.
The pearly flower grows and grows
and tells for years the giver's wish.

18

AUDI ALTERAM PARTEM

France you remember, Dominic,
adjusted an accursed thing
until it made a dead man sing.
A queer, unnecessary trick.
Caruso marred the cosy night
until we bravely sued for peace
to stretch our limbs again at ease
and listen to the storm outside.
The patient world revolving since,
obedient to the charted speed,
has brought to us the humble need
of what when younger made us wince.
We cannot be ubiquitous;
nor longer yet suppress the wish
for past or absent gibberish;
to let a jackass sing to us.

19

Do you refuse to be entranced
by some enchanted violin,
to seem to hear the waters dream,
to hear the notes a satyr danced,
because of scruples vaguely born
of griefs against united states,
and mechanisms dislocate,
and precious matter spoiled and torn?
Unwinding its concentric crawl,
a needle scrapes your epiderm,
methodically as the firm's
unnumbered patents foolproof all.
Pay the price. Prolong the search
for, right or wrong, what pleases us.
Listen; the patriarch of Uz
is singing in the Temple church.

20

THE ENGLISH HEDGE

Cornel of bitter fruit and ruddy hues;
music of its hidden zithers these;
coral, and even ruby, manganese,
which cherry-cheeks and apple-skins suffuse.
Stride of bramble in its summer march
along the wall of leaves and down the bank
pushes its tender thrust and pearly fangs
dust, drought & weariness at length shall parch.
Another summer nobly spring, and haul
a road where alder, maple, yew construct
the rigid scaffolding for usufruct
of lissom vines to spread upon and sprawl.
Glistening holly, floury wayfarer.
So chicory whispers of a dim-lit home;
so clematis, which rears enchanted foam.
Its smothering mantles load the listening air.

21

Yet choose you not black bryony, the vine
of vines in all the hedge if there be choice
of things that grow and force a man rejoice
to make selection: such a plant is mine.
Your crotchet leans upon its cable length,
essays its toughness and its heavy fruit,
the mighty weaving of its limbs, the brute
determination of its supple strength,
and sinewy purpose not to be displaced.
Leaves gay shields at a joust, green, gold & black;
as wanting yet devices drawn in lac;
or in an armoury hung, so duly spaced.

22

ETTRICKDALE

Overburdened, out you clear;
be dried and toasted in the air,
along the unfrequented road;
and in the evening walk with God.
The waters of the winding dale,
whatever may, will never fail;
from hidden sources, springs afar,
these million ages purr and roar.
No lips of men have shaped the word
to name what all have often heard;
so willingly believe the noise
is like the uncreated voice.
The fiftieth time the lisping rush
has died upon a silver hush;
and, faithful to the downward hue,
another element is blue.

23

White pathway in the darkening hills,
soft salve for nearly all your ills;
on bruise and scar a healing drip,
the wanderers' companionship.
A planet, rose on tender green,
tugs at its radius unseen,
and draws its complicated arc;
until it blaze against the dark.
On earth no sight or sound at all;
unless an owl's alternate call;
or Tushielaw, if there you sup,
a furlong off is lighted up.

24

ROXBURGHSHIRE

Fumbling out of the old town
I hit the old road;
(tobacco, book and tacketty shoon
the outfit and the load).
By hooks and turns the craziest
it reared and pitched and wound
a general line on one great crest
and far outseeing ground.
I saw, the road's erratic guest,
landscapes swing and bound;
the more I pressed my unknown quest
deeper repose I found.

25

Not as an angel understands,
the thrones and cherubim,
‘I see the work of blessed hands
by a light shrouded dim.’
I seemed to wield a tenuous wand,
and with it write in space,
with trembling heart and steady hand,
a long-remembered phrase;
shortening it, in fluent air
I had the power to trace
the unforgettable; and there
the outline of a face.

26

BIRTHDAY WISHES

In Guernsey and the Scilly Isles,
and all along the Pyrenees,
the blessed earth is rich for miles
with what will be anemones.
In time my unforgotten friend
(if all should chance as I foresee)
will spend a franc or two, and send
the very flower that pleases me.
A happy man will cut the string;
and shape the vision of surprise;
he'll fetch his breath as if to sing;
and hold the rapture of his eyes.
He'll reach and fill the Gallé glass
to make the travelled flowers revive,
no flower in beauty can surpass,
if any other thing alive.
So, all disposed with simple art,
he'll stand the beaker on a dish;
and wish himself with all his heart
the customary birthday wish.

27

ANEMONES

The flower I once in fancy praised
is yet my peerless friend,
in loveliness aware, effaced,
until its glories end.
Throughout the winter and the spring
of all the years I know
along that stream meandering
these gleaming jewels flow.
Three colours in the petals swim
and freely interchange,
or leaping bright, or sunk and dim,
a long chromatic range.
In whorls unbroken, collarwise
disposed, the sepals seem
to bar the wintry green which tries
to crawl along the stem.
The anther tassels, roughly known,
are never quite explored;
so rich and of so deep a tone
their colour secrets stored.

28

EVENING

We are just barbarians.
Our camp is vast.
The present camp and the past
show little variance.
For today we do
whatever we did
in times bysped
and the years ago.
All over the ground
is bewildering;
scarcely a thing
where it should be found.
Children and hens,
wherever they group,
all mixed up;
not without offence.
A true to the life
picture of us
ourselves, incongruous;
neither at peace nor strife.

29

Opposite each door
blue feathers stand,
or sway to the wind
just as ever before.
Once call it night,
all disarray
has melted away
with the melting light.
Hens aroost,
children abed,
we break our bread
as we ever used.
Hardly stooping he goes
silently for hours
picking flowers
of stars reflected in the snow.

30

ODIHAM

Put his head
and anxious face
out of a car.
Seemed to have said:
Yell's the name
of this place;
seven, three, four.
Man addressed
tried to evince
interest,
as often before
and often since.
Said the name
of where they were
was Odiham.
Delighted, sir.
Fat, pale chap
seemed dissatisfied;
snatched a map
from those inside.
Engine tried
as much as it could
to drown the voices

31

with throbbing noises.
Man understood
him to say:
We know the way
to the south of France;
but Brodenham
is not in Hants;
we almost came
this way instead.
He said: I said
Odiham.
Odium: hatred.
Odi: I hate.
ham: ham.
A ridiculous name
in that point of view.
He said: Are you
then a Jew?
He said: No.
He said: Oh;
I thought I'd like to know;
but I can't wait.

32

ANDANTE

[_]

(St. Mary's Loch from Megget Water Bridge, January.)

Lean evenly, white pool of light,
before the spirit held
intent, each power of sense impelled
into one point of sight;
no radiance on the glassy face
or aught created eyes
the vision holds, absorb, embrace;
so all in silence lies.
The eyes behold a hundredfold
a million ripples lap
inaudibly upon a lap
delicious curves enfold;
around the water's sinuous verges
where the meek hills loll
felicitously intermerges
long lines' rhythmic roll.

33

In a bright vault stand little clouds
immobilized by frost,
which yesterday were rolled and tossed
and dragged in ragged shrouds.
Hushed is the wild and rainy west
before the tender north,
to still the scene for one rough guest
whom chance has driven forth;
round whom, attentive, motionless,
each happily unseen
in his impenetrable screen
of leaves which once twigs dress;
from odorous moor and windy height
and opalescent haze
like planets on a starry night
all those spirits gaze.

34

SPECIOSÆ ET DELICATÆ ASSIMILAVI FILIAM SION

Tell us; shepherds, what you saw;
tell us, were you not afraid?
We saw the king of glory laid,
a babe, upon a little straw.
Neither of you was afraid;
neither were you filled with awe.
We saw him lying on the straw,
the baby; and we saw the maid.
Tell us, was the lady bright?
was the baby strange and rare?
Though we have travelled everywhere
we never saw so fair a sight.

35

Were there angels and a throne?
was the stable filled with light?
The maid was like a starry night;
and he was like a golden sun.
Tell us if the mother smiled;
tell us what the maiden said.
The babe waslying on his bed;
and she was looking at her child.
Shepherds twain, who speak so fair,
lead the way to Bethlehem.
An angel guided us to them;
and Bethlehem is everywhere.

36

MANE NOBISCUM DOMINE

Stay with us, Lord, the day is travelled far;
we meet thee at its close.
Lord, at our humble table sit and share,
and be, our sweet repose.
Pledge of our hospitality, the bread
is broken by thy hands;
our quaking love, our most confiding dread
beholds and understands.
Food of our souls enlightens and updries
our darkness and our tears;
the breaker and the broken to our eyes
is all, and disappears.
We cannot be without thee, Lord, because
the night is perilous;
and anxiously our earthly journey draws
to evening; stay with us.

37

THE LORD LOOKS AT PETER

My lips were like my steps a song,
and all my thought of Follow me;
but when the march was over long
I turned away from thee.
When not alone thine eyes, my God,
but all thy sacred body wept,
and every tear was ruby blood,
I shut my eyes and slept.
A night alarm; a weaponed crowd;
one blow, and with the rest I ran;
I warmed my hands, and said aloud:
I never knew the man.