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Brodsky "The Lilacs" (Hand-lettered booklet)
This version of the poem, which occupies pages 5-14 of the tiny gift booklet that originally belonged to Phil Stone, and which seems to have been copied out within a little more than a year following the poem's probable initial completion (ca. July—December, 1918), appears to have drawn heavily on the fair ink copy since it retains, with a few obvious line deletions, most of the changes Faulkner made in updating his poem from pencil to ink draft. Most significant, however, are the additions original to this version: they consist of 21 major word, line, syntactical and punctuation alterations from the fair ink version, and all appear in the Double Dealer text. These changes have been collated against the fair ink copy (F.I.) and the Double Dealer (D.D.) text to suggest that the hand-lettered version of "The Lilacs" represents a further working through of the poem. However, this should not be taken to imply that it may have been the final rendition, for in the Double Dealer text Faulkner also harks back to a few lines and words which appear in the fair ink copy and fail to appear in the hand-lettered text (Re: Double Dealer lines 16, 22, 47, 48, 76).
In the version of "The Lilacs" transcribed below, the reconstructed text contains pointed brackets which enclose material missing from the booklet because of fire damage. I have refrained from placing suspected punctuation in the bracketed material, although the likelihood of its existence in the undamaged original is great. Also, to augment a more accurate transcription of the poem as it actually appears in the booklet, page numbers are indicated in parentheses to distinguish stanzaic breaks from page breaks arbitrarily necessitated by the booklet's odd size.
We sit drinking tea] D.D. We sit, drinking] F.I.
Beneath the lilacs of a su<mmer afternoon>
Comfortably, at our ease
With fresh linen napkins <on our knees>
We are in Blighty
And we sit, we three,
In diffident contentedness
Lest we let each other guess
How pleased we are
Together here, watching t<he young moon>] D.D. Together watching] F.I.
Lying shyly on her bac<k, and the first> star.] D.D. first star&c.rat;] F.I.
<Smooth shouldered> creatures in sheer
<Scarves, that> pass
<And eye me s>trangely as they pass.] D.D. queerly as they pass&c.rat;] F.I.
<One of them,> my hostess, pauses near.
<—Are you quite> all right, sir?—she stops <to ask>
<Will you> have more tea? Cigarettes? <No?—>
<I thank her>, waiting for them to go,
<To me they> are as figures on a masque.] D.D. masque&c.rat;] F.I.
<—Who?—Sh>ot down—
<Yes, shot down—Las>t spring—
<Poor chap—Yes,> his mind—
<Hoping rest will bring>—
<Their voices come to me like> tangled <rooks> (p.6)
Busy with their tea a<nd cigarettes> and books.
We sit in silent am<ity>
A white woman,] D.D. Like a white woman] F.I.
A white wanton at the edg<e of a brake>
A rising whiteness mirrore<d in a lake>
And I, old chap, was o<ut before the> day
Stalking her through t<he shimmering> reaches <of the sky>
In my lit<tle pointed eared machine>
I kne<w that we could catch her> <when we liked> (p.7)
<For no nymphs> ran as swiftly as <they c>ould.] D.D. could&c.rat;] F.I.
<we mounted up an>d up,] D.D. up and up&c.rat;] F.I.
<And found her at> the border of a wood
<A cloud forest>,
<And pausing> at its brink
<We felt her> arms and her cool breath
<A red rose> on white snows, the kiss <of> Death.
<In my left> breast
<And killed my> little pointed-eared] D.D. pointed&c.rat; eared] F.I. <machine> I watched it fall
<The last wine in a cu>p. . . .
<I thought that we could find> her when <we liked> (p.8)
But now I wonder if I <found her, after> all.] D.D. I wonder if we] F.I.
On such a day
From hot angry bullets, o<r other mod-> ern way] From angry bullets] D.D. From hot mad bullets] F.I.
One should fall I think <to some> Etruscan dart
On such a day as this
And become a tall wr<eathed column;> I should like <to be>
An ilex tre<e on some white lifting> isl<e>
Instead <, I had a bullet through my heart—> (p.9)
<One should> not die like this,] D.D. like this&c.rat;] F.I.
<And for no c>ause nor reason in the <world>
<Tis right enough> for one like you to <talk>
<Of going into> the far thin sky to stalk] D.D. far thin air] F.I.
<The mouth> of Death, you did not <know the> bliss
<Of home a>nd children and the se-<rene>
<Of living, and> of work and joy that <was our> heritage,
<And best of all, of age>
<We were too young> (p.10)
Still—he draws his <hand across> his eyes
—Still, it could not be <otherwise>
Raiding over Man<nheim. You've seen>
The place? Then <you know>
How one hangs jus<t beneath the stars> and seems to se<e>
The incandescent entr<ails of the Hun>
The great earth drew <us down, that> night,> The black earth drew us] D.D. The black earth pulled] F.I.
Out of the bullet <tortured air>
A black bowl of <fireflies . . .> (p.11)
There is an en<d to this, somewhere;>
One should n<ot die like this—>
<His voice has dropp>ed and the wind <is mouthing h>is words
<While the lilacs n>od their heads on <slender stal>ks,] D.D. stalks&c.rat;] F.I.
<Agreeing while> he talks
<And care> not if he is heard, or is <not hear>d.] D.D. heard&c.rat;] F.I.
<One should not die> like this—
<Half audible, half> silent words
<That hover like> grey birds
<About our heads> (p.12)
I shiver, for the sun has <gone>
And the air is cooler w<where we three>
Are sitting. The light h<as followed> the sun,
And I no longer see] D.D. From the world's rim, and I can no longer see] F.I.
The pale lilacs stirri<ng against the> lilac-pale <sky>] D.D. The stirring of the pale lilacs against the lilac pale sky] F.I.
—Old man—the<y say—> When d<id you die? . . .> (p.13)
<I—I am not> dead.] D.D. not dead&c.rat;] F.I.
<I hear their> voices as from a great <distance>—Not dead
<He's not dea>d, <poor> chap; he didn't <die>—] D.D. chap; he isn't dead—] F.I.
<We sit, drinki>ng tea. (p.14)
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