 | "Two Poems" |  |
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TWO POEMS
BY JOHN DOS PASSOS
JARDIN DES TUILERIES
(To A. K. McC.)
This is a garden
where through the russet mist of clustered trees
and strewn November leaves,
they crunch with vainglorious heels
of ancient vermilion
the dry dead of spent summer's greens
and stalk with mincing sceptic steps
and sound of snuffboxes snapping
to the capping of an epigram, in fluffy attar-scented wigs . . .
the exquisite Augustans.
where through the russet mist of clustered trees
and strewn November leaves,
they crunch with vainglorious heels
of ancient vermilion
the dry dead of spent summer's greens
and stalk with mincing sceptic steps
and sound of snuffboxes snapping
to the capping of an epigram, in fluffy attar-scented wigs . . .
the exquisite Augustans.
ON POETIC COMPOSITION
There was a king in China.
He sat in a garden under a moon of gold
while a black slave scratched his back
with a backscratcher of emerald.
Before him beyond the tulipbed
where the tulips were stiff goblets of fiery wine
stood the poets in a row.
while a black slave scratched his back
with a backscratcher of emerald.
Before him beyond the tulipbed
where the tulips were stiff goblets of fiery wine
stood the poets in a row.
One sang of the intricate patterns of snowflakes.
One sang of the hennatipped breasts of girls dancing
and of yellow limbs rubbed with attar.
One sang of the red bows of Tartar horsemen
and the whine of arrows, and bloodclots on new spearshafts.
One sang of the hennatipped breasts of girls dancing
and of yellow limbs rubbed with attar.
One sang of the red bows of Tartar horsemen
and the whine of arrows, and bloodclots on new spearshafts.
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Others sang of wine and dragons coiled in purple bowls,
and one, in a droning voice
recited the maxims of Lao T'se.
and one, in a droning voice
recited the maxims of Lao T'se.
(Far off at the walls of the city
a groaning of drums and a clank of massed spearmen.
Gongs in the temples.)
a groaning of drums and a clank of massed spearmen.
Gongs in the temples.)
The king sat under a moon of gold
while a black slave scratched his back
with a backscratcher of emerald.
The long gold nails of his left hand
twined about a red tulip blotched with black,
a tulip shaped like a dragon's mouth
or the flames bellying about a pagoda of sandalwood.
The long gold nails of his right hand
were held together at the tips
in an attitude of discernment:—
to award the tulip to the poet
of the poets that stood in a row.
while a black slave scratched his back
with a backscratcher of emerald.
The long gold nails of his left hand
twined about a red tulip blotched with black,
a tulip shaped like a dragon's mouth
or the flames bellying about a pagoda of sandalwood.
The long gold nails of his right hand
were held together at the tips
in an attitude of discernment:—
to award the tulip to the poet
of the poets that stood in a row.
(Gongs in the temples,
Men with hairy arms
climbing on the walls of the city.
They have red bows slung on their backs,
their hands grip new spearshafts.)
Men with hairy arms
climbing on the walls of the city.
They have red bows slung on their backs,
their hands grip new spearshafts.)
The guard of the tomb of the king's great grandfather
stood with two swords under the moon of gold.
With one sword he very carefully
slit the base of his large belly
and inserted the other and fell upon it
and sprawled beside the king's footstool;
his blood sprinkled the tulips
and the poets in a row.
stood with two swords under the moon of gold.
With one sword he very carefully
slit the base of his large belly
and inserted the other and fell upon it
and sprawled beside the king's footstool;
his blood sprinkled the tulips
and the poets in a row.
(The gongs are quiet in the temples.
Men with hairy arms
scatter with taut bows through the city.
There is blood on new spearshafts.)
Men with hairy arms
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scatter with taut bows through the city.
There is blood on new spearshafts.)
The long gold nails of the king's right hand
were held together at the tips
in an attitude of discernment:
the geometric glitter of snowflakes,
the pointed breasts of yellow girls
crimson with henna,
the swirl of river-eddies about a barge
where men sit drinking,
the eternal dragon of magnificence . . .
Beyond the tulipbed
stood the poets in a row.
were held together at the tips
in an attitude of discernment:
the geometric glitter of snowflakes,
the pointed breasts of yellow girls
crimson with henna,
the swirl of river-eddies about a barge
where men sit drinking,
the eternal dragon of magnificence . . .
Beyond the tulipbed
stood the poets in a row.
The garden full of spearshafts and shouting
and the whine of arrows and the red bows of Tartars
and trampling of the sharp hoofs of warhorses.
Under the golden moon
the men with hairy arms
struck off the heads of the tulips in the tulipbed
and of the poets in a row.
The king lifted the hand that held the flaming dragonflower:
To him of the snowflakes, he said.
and the whine of arrows and the red bows of Tartars
and trampling of the sharp hoofs of warhorses.
Under the golden moon
the men with hairy arms
struck off the heads of the tulips in the tulipbed
and of the poets in a row.
The king lifted the hand that held the flaming dragonflower:
To him of the snowflakes, he said.
On a new white spearshaft
the men with hairy arms
spitted the king and the black slave
who scratched his back with a backscratcher of emerald.
the men with hairy arms
spitted the king and the black slave
who scratched his back with a backscratcher of emerald.
There was a king in China.
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