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Collected Poems 1931-74 (34 page)
Read Collected Poems 1931-74 Online
Authors:
Lawrence Durrell
BOOK:
Collected Poems 1931-74
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Dark birds in nature redevise
1
Darkness, divulge my share in light
1
Dear, behind the choking estuaries
1
Deep waters hereabouts.
1
Delicate desire,
1
DESPATCH ADGENERAL PUBLICS EXTHE WEST
1
Deus
loci
your provinces extend
1
Down the wide shadow-streets of the city,
1
Down there below the temple
1
Early one morning unremarked
1
Even then was he somehow able
1
Faces may settle sadly
1
Fangbrand was here once,
1
Far away once, in Avignon, the Grey Penitents
1
Finally I am here. Conon in exile on Andros
1
Find time hanging, cut it down
1
First come the Infantry in scented bodices,
1
First draw the formal circle O
1
For how long now have we not nibbled
1
Four card-players: an ikon of the saint
1
Four small nouns I put to pasture,
1
Fraudulent perhaps in that they gave
1
Friends, Humans, Englishmen!
1
Friends, Romans, countrymen,
1
From a winter of vampires he selects one,
1
From recollection's fund
1
From the dark viands of the church
1
From the intellect's grosser denominations
1
From this glass gallows in famous entertainment,
1
From Travancore to Tripoli
1
Further from him whose head of woman's hair
1
Garcia, when you drew off those two
1
Guilt can lie heavier than house of tortoise.
1
Gum, oats and syrup
1
Hatch me a gorilla's egg
1
He is the man who makes notes,
1
Heloise and Abelard
1
Her dust has pawned kings of gold,
1
Her sea limps up here twice a day
1
Here in the hollow curvature of the world,
1
Here is a man who says: Let there be light.
1
Here on the curve of the embalming winter,
1
How can we find the substance of the lie;
1
How elapsing our women
1
How loud the perfume of common gin
1
Huit
heures
â¦
honte
heures
⦠supper will be cold.
1
Hush the old bones their vegetable sleep,
1
I, a slave, chained to an oar of poem,
1
I am this spring,
1
I built a house, far in a wilderness,
1
I cannot fix the very moment or the hour,
1
I cannot read Pliny without terror.
1
I close an hinge on the memorial days.
1
I found your Horace with the writing in it;
1
I have brought my life to this point,
1
I have buried my wife under a dolmen,
1
I have nibbled the mystical fruit. Cover me.
1
I have set my wife's lip under the bandage,
1
I have sipped from the flask of resurrection,
1
I have tasted my quantum of misfortune,
1
,
1
I like to see so much the old man's loves,
1
I, per se I, I sing on
1
I recall her by a freckle of gold
1
I shall die one day I suppose
1
I should set about memorising this little room,
1
I turned and found a new-moon at my feet:
1
I was a vagabond; sunset and moon
1
I who have lived in death, hemmed by the spears,
1
I would be rid of you who bind me so,
1
If I say what I honestly mean
1
If seen by many minds at once your image
1
If space curves how much the more thought,
1
If there was a cake you'd take it
1
Image, Image, Image answer
1
Image of our own dust in wine!
1
Imagine we are the living who inhabit
1
In all the sad seduction of your ways
1
In all this summer dust O Vincent
1
In an island of bitter lemons
1
In the museums you can find her,
1
In youth the decimal days for spending:
1
Incision of a comb in hair: lips stained
1
Indifferent history! In such a place
1
Instead of this or that fictitious woman
1
It would be untrue to say that
The
Art
of
Marriage
1
Jupiter, so lucky when he lay
1
Katharine, Queen Eleanor's shadow hovers over you
1
Known before the expurgation of gods
1
Ladies and gentlemen: or better still,
1
Land of Doubleday and Dutton
1
Last night I bowed before a destiny,
1
Last of the great autumnal capitals
1
Late seventeenth, a timepiece rusted by dew,
1
Later Ariadne read of
The
Universe,
1
Later some of these heroic worshippers
1
Le
saltimbanque
is coming with
1
Left like an unknown's breath on mirrors,
1
Livin' in a functional greenhouse
1
Look, on that hill we met
1
Lost, you may not smile upon me now:
1
Love on a leave-of-absence came,
1
Madness confides its own theology,
1
Mark has crossed over to Mount Olivet,
1
Miss Willow, secretly known as âtit'â¦
1
Monday escapes destruction.
1
Mothers and sculptors work
1
My love on Wednesday letting fall her body
1
My lovely left-handed lover
1
My uncle has entered his soliloquy./He keeps vigil under the black sigil.
1
My uncle has entered his soliloquy. The candles shed their fur.
1
My uncle has entered his soliloquy;/ Under the black sigil the old white one
1
My uncle has gone beyond astronomy./He sleeps in the music-room of the Host.
1
My uncle has gone beyond astronomy./He sleeps in the pocket of Lapland,
1
My uncle has gone beyond astronomy./He sleeps the sharp sleep of the unstrung harp
1
My uncle has gone beyond astronomy./His sleep is of the Babylonian deep-sea
1
My uncle has gone beyond astronomy./Three, six, nine of the dead languages
1
My uncle sleeps in the image of death./He sleeps the steep sleep of his zone,
1
My uncle sleeps in the image of death./In the greenhouse and in the potting-shed
1
My uncle sleeps in the image of death./Not a bad sport the boys will tell you,
1
My uncle sleeps in the image of death./The shadow of other worlds, deep-water penumbra
1
Night falls. The dark expresses
1
Nine marches to Lhasa.
1
No milestones marked the invaders,
1
âNo one will ever pick them, I think,'
1
Nostos
home:
algos
pain: nostalgia â¦
1
Not from some silent sea she rose
1
Nothing is lost, sweet self,
1
Now darkness comes to Europe
1
Now earth turns her cold shoulders to us,
1
Now everywhere Spring opens
1
Now mark, the Lady one fine day
1
Now November visiting with rain
1
Now that I have given all that I could bring
1
Now the sun again, like a bloody convict,
1
Now when the angler by Bethlehem's water
1
O Freedom which to every man entire
1
Of all the sicknesses, autumnal Paris,
1
Oh! to blunder onto the glory of some white, majestic headland,
1
Old cock-pheasants when you hit one
1
On charts they fall like lace,
1
On how many of your clement springs
1
On seeming to presume
1
On the stone sill of the embalming winter
1
Once in idleness was my beginning,
1
One innocent observer in a foreign cell
1
One she floats as Venice might,
1
Only the night remains now, only the dark.
1
Only to affirm in time
1
Orpheus, beloved famulus,
1
Over the bridges the meandering scholars
1
Outside us smoulder the great
1
Pain hangs more bloody than the mystic's taws.
1
Perfume of old bones,
1
Pity these lame and halting parodies
1
Poetry, science of intimacies,
1
Proffer the loaves of pain
1
Prospero upon his island
1
Prudence had no dog and but one cat,
1
Prudence shall cross also the great white barrier.
1
Prudence sweetly sang both crotchet and quaver,
1
Prudence was told the tale of the chimney-corner
1
Put it more simply: say the city
1
pyknics
are
short,
fat
and
hairy,
Â
1
Quiet room, four candles, red wine in pottery:
1
Reading him is to refresh all nature,
1
Red Polish mouth,
1
Remember please, time has no joints,
1
Ride out at midnight,
1
River the Roman legionary noosed:
1
Scent like a river-pilot led me there:
1
Seal up the treasury and bar the gate.
1
Sealed with the image of man grows the fungus,
1
Seemingly upended in the sky,
1
She dreams she is chased by a black buck-nigger
1
Since you must pass to-night
1
Sky star-engraved, the Pleiads up,
1
Small temptations nowâto slumber and to sleep,
1
So at last we come to the writer's
1
So back to a Paris grubby as a bowel
1
So knowledge has an end,
1
So many masks â¦
1
So many masks, the people that I meet,
1
So many mockers of the doctrine
1
So one fine year to where the roads
1
So Time, the lovely and mysterious
1
So today, after many years, we meet
1
So we have come to evening ⦠graciously,
1
Soft as puffs of smoke combining,
1
Soft toys that make to seem girls
1
Solange Bequille b. 1915 supposedly
1
Some diplomatic missionâno such thing as âfate'â
1
Some, the great Adepts, found it
1
Some withering papers lie,
1
Something like the sea,
1
Sometime we shall all come together
1
Somewhere in all this grace and favour green
1
Spoonful of wine, candle-stump and eyes.
1
âSpring' says your Alexandrian poet
1
Stavro's dead. A truant vine
1
âStyle is the cut of the mind.'
1
Such was the sagacious Suchness of the Sage
1
Suppose one died
1
Supposing once the dead were to combine
1
Sure a lovely day and all weather
1
Sweet sorrow, were you always there?
1
Take me back where sex is furtive
1
Ten speechless knuckles lie along a knee
1
That last summer quite definitely the dead
1
That noise will be the rain again,
1
The ants that passed
1
The baby emperor
1
The big rivers are through with me, I guess;
1
The change from C major to A flat
21
The colonial, the expatriate walking here
1
The dreams of Solange confused no issues
1
The dying business began hereabouts,
1
The evil and the good seem undistinguished,
1
The father is in death.
1
The forest wears its coats
1
The frontiers at last, I am feeling so tired.
1
The Good Lord Nelson had a swollen gland,
1
The grass they cropped converting into speed
1
The grave one is patron of a special sea,
1
The hand is crabbed, the manuscript much defaced,
1
The horizon like some keystone between soil and air
1
The islands rebuffed by water.
1
The islands which whisper to the ambitious,
1
The little gold cigale
1
The mixtures of this garden
1
The old Levant which made us once
1
The old men said: to wet the soul with wine or urine
1
The old yellow Emperor
1
The paladin of the body is rock,
1
The Pleiades are sinking calm as paint
1
The pure form, then, must be the silence?
1
The quiet murmur shakes the shadowed wood,
1
The rapt moonwalkers or mere students
1
The road is a sinister pathway paved with smoke,
1
The roads lead southward, blue
1
The rubber penis, the wig, the false breasts â¦
1
The saddle-nose, the hairy thighs
1
the soft
quem
quam
will be Scops the Owl
1
The trees have been rapping
1
The year his heart wore outâ
1
Then walk where roses like disciples can
1
There is a great heart-break in an evening sea;
1
There is no strict being in this hour,
1
There is some corner of a lover's brain
1
There must be some slow ending to this pain:
1
These ships, these islands, these simple trees
1
They have taken another road,
1
They never credit us
1
This boy is the good shepherd.
1
This business grows more dreary year by year,
1
This dust, this royal dust, our mother
1
âThis landscape is not original in its own mode.'
1
This pain goes deeper than the fish's fathom:
1
This rough field of sudden warâ
1
This unimportant morning
1
Three women have slept with my books,
1
Thumb quantum
1
Thy kingdom come. They say the prophet
1
Time marched against my egg,
1
Time quietly compiling us like sheaves
1
Time spillers, pain killers, all such pretty women,
1
To be a king of islands,
1
To increase your hold
1
To the lucky now who have lovers or friends,
1
To you by whom the sweet spherical music
1
To you in high heaven the unattainable,
1
Transparent sheath of the dead cicada,
1
Tread softly, for here you stand
1
Trembling they appear, the Siren isles,
1
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Collected Poems 1931-74
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