Toward the Gulf Part 30

Pantagruel pa.s.ses and looks around him Brave and merry of soul.

But there on the ground lies a dead body, The body of Old King Cole.

And a Voice said: Take the body up And carry the body for me Until you come to a silent water, By the sands of a silent sea.

Pantagruel takes the body up And the dead fat bends him down.

He climbs the mountains, runs the valleys With body, bottle and crown.

And the wastes are strewn with skulls, And the desert is hot and cursed.

And a phantom shape of the holy bottle Mocks his burning thirst.

Pantagruel wanders seven days, And seven nights wanders he.

And on the seventh night he rests him By the sands of the silent sea.

And sees a new made fire on the sh.o.r.e, And on the fire is a dish.

And by the fire two travelers sleep, And two are broiling fish.

Don Quixote and Hamlet are sleeping, And Faust is stirring the fire.

But the fourth is a stranger with a face Starred with a great desire.

Pantagruel hungers, Pantagruel thirsts, Pantagruel falls to his knees.

He flings down the body of Old King Cole As a man throws off disease.

And rolls his burden away and cries: "Take and watch, if you will.

But as for me I go to France My bottle to refill."

"And as for me I go to France To fill this bottle up."

He felt at his side for the holy bottle, And found it turned a cup.

And the stranger said: Behold our friend Has brought my cup to me.

That is the cup whereof I drank In the garden Gethsemane.

Pantagruel hands the cup to Jesus Who dips it in sea brine.

This is the water, says Jesus of Nazareth, Whereof I make your wine.

And Faust takes the cup from Jesus of Nazareth, And his lips wear a purple stain.

And Faust hands the cup to Pantagruel With the dregs for him to drain.

Pantagruel drinks and falls into slumber, And Jesus strokes his hair.

And Faust sings a song of Euphorion To hide his heart's despair.

And Faust takes the hand of Jesus of Nazareth, And they walk by the purple deep.

Says Jesus of Nazareth: "Some are watchers, And some grow tired and sleep."

BOTANICAL GARDENS

He follows me no more, I said, nor stands Beside me. And I wake these later days In an April mood, a wonder light and free.

The vision is gone, but gone the constant pain Of constant thought. I see dawn from my hill, And watch the lights which fingers from the waters Twine from the sun or moon. Or look across The waste of bays and marshes to the woods, Under the prism colors of the air, Held in a vacuum silence, where the clouds, Like cyclop hoods are tossed against the sky In terrible glory.

And earth charmed I lie Before the staring sphinx whose musing face Is this Egyptian heaven, and whose eyes Are separate clouds of gold, whose pedestal Is earth, whose silken sheathed claws No longer toy with me, even while I stroke them: Since I have ceased to tease her.

Then behold A breeze is blown out of a world becalmed, And as I see the mult.i.tudinous leaves Fluttered against the water and the light, And see this light unveil itself, reveal An inner light, a Presence, Secret splendor, I clap hands over eyes, for the earth reels; And I have fears of dieties shown or spun From nothingness. But when I look again The earth has stayed itself, I see the lake, The leaves, the light of the sun, the cyclop hoods Of thunder heads, yet feel upon my arm A hand I know, and hear a voice I know-- He has returned and brought with him the thought And the old pain.

The voice says: "Leave the sphinx.

The garden waits your study fully grown."

And I arise and follow down a slope To a lawn by the lake and an ancient seat of stone, And near it a fountain's shattered rim enclosing An Eros of light mood, whose sculptured smile Consciously dimples for the unveiled pistil of love, As he strokes with baby hand the slender arching Neck of a swan. And here is a peristyle Whose carven columns are pink as the long updrawn Stalks of tulips bedded in April snow.

And sunk amid tiger lillies is the face Of an Asian Aphrodite close to the seat With feet of a Babylonian lion amid This ruined garden of yellow daisies, poppies And ruddy asphodel from Crete, it seems, Though here is our western moon as white and thin As an abalone sh.e.l.l hung under the boughs Of an oak, that is mocked by the vastness of sky between His boughs and the moon in this sky of afternoon. ...

We walk to the water's edge and here he shows me Green sc.u.m, or stalks, or sedges, gra.s.ses, shrubs, That yield to trees beyond the levels, where The beech and oak have triumph; for along This gradual growth from algae, reeds and gra.s.ses, That builds the soil against the water's hands, All things are fierce for place and garner life From weaker things.

And then he shows me root stocks, And Alpine willow, growths that sneak and crawl Beneath the soil. Or as we leave the lake And walk the forest I behold lianas, Smilax or woodbine climbing round the trunks Of giant trees that live and out of earth, And out of air make strength and food and ask No other help. And in this place I see Spiral bryony, python of the vines That coils and crushes; and that banyan tree Whose spreading branches drop new roots to earth, And lives afar from where the parent trunk Has sunk its roots, so that the healthful sun Is darkened: as a people might be darkened By ignorance or want or tyranny, Or dogma of a jungle hidden faith.

Why is it, think I, though I dare not speak, That this should be to forests or to men; That water fails, and light decreases, heat Of G.o.d's air lessens, and the soil goes spent, Till plants change leaves and stalks and seeds as well, Or migrate from the olden places, go In search of life, or if they cannot move Die in the ruthless marches.

That is life, he said.

For even these, the giants scatter life Into the maws of death. That towering tree That for these hundred years has leafed itself, And through its leaves out of the magic air Drawn nutriment for annual girths, took root Out of an acorn which good chance preserved, While all its brother acorns cast to earth, To make trees, by a parent tree now gone, Were crushed, devoured, or strangled as they sprouted Amid thick jealous growth wherein they fell.

All acorns but this one were lost.

Then he reads My questioning thought and shows me yuccas, cactus Whose thick leaves in the rainless places thrive.

And shows me leaves that must have rain, and roots That must have water where the river flows.