What of the silence of the keys
And silvery hands? The iron sings…
Though bows lie broken on the strings,
The fly-wheels turn eternally…
Bring fuel – drive the fires high…
Throw all this artist-lumber in
And foolish dreams of making things…
(Ten million men are called to die.)
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.
Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
As dancers to soft music move
So lovers take one tread in love.
They hardly hear a sound at all
Till suddenly their spirits sprawl
Against a hard hush like a wall:
As dancers when the fiddles fall.
I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world’s eyes
As though they’d wrought it.
Song, let them take it
For there’s more enterprise
In walking naked.
I. Dieppe
Again the last ebb
the dead shingle
the turning then the steps
toward the lighted town
II.
my way is in the sand flowing
between the shingle and the dune
the summer rain rains on my life
on me my life harrying fleeing
to its beginning to this end
The last hotel
I can see the black wall
I can see the silhouette in the window
He’s talking
I’m not interested in what
he’s talking about
I’m only interested in the fact
that it’s the last hotel
It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light
I walk towards this nite
towards the drunkards
and the lost
towards the sluts
and the broken of
heart
in hard bitten bars
between dog-ends and bad scotch
sucking on bitter cigars
(more…)
ECLECTIC FEAST 