Georgian Poetry 1916-1917 Part 1

Georgian Poetry 1916-17.

by Various.

Ill.u.s.trator: Sir Edward Howard Marsh.

PREFATORY NOTE

This third book of 'Georgian Poetry' carries to the end of a seventh year the presentation of chosen examples from the work of contemporary poets belonging to the younger generation. Of the eighteen writers included, nine appear in the series for the first time. The representation of the older inhabitants has in most cases been restricted in order to allow full s.p.a.ce for the new-comers; and the alphabetical order of the names has been reversed, so as to bring more of these into prominence than would otherwise have been done.

My thanks for permission to print the poems are due to Messrs. Chatto & Windus, Constable, Fifield, Heinemann, Macmillan, Elkin Mathews, Martin Secker, and Sidgwick & Jackson, and to the Editors of the 'Nation', the 'New Statesman', and 'To-Day'.

E.M.

September 1917.

W.J. TURNER

ROMANCE

When I was but thirteen or so I went into a golden land, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi Took me by the hand.

My father died, my brother too, They pa.s.sed like fleeting dreams, I stood where Popocatapetl In the sunlight gleams.

I dimly heard the master's voice And boys far-off at play, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi Had stolen me away.

I walked in a great golden dream To and fro from school-- s.h.i.+ning Popocatapetl The dusty streets did rule.

I walked home with a gold dark boy And never a word I'd say, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi Had taken my speech away:

I gazed entranced upon his face Fairer than any flower-- O s.h.i.+ning Popocatapetl It was thy magic hour:

The houses, people, traffic seemed Thin fading dreams by day, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi They had stolen my soul away!

ECSTASY

I saw a frieze on whitest marble drawn Of boys who sought for sh.e.l.ls along the sh.o.r.e, Their white feet shedding pallor in the sea, The shallow sea, the spring-time sea of green That faintly creamed against the cold, smooth pebbles.

The air was thin, their limbs were delicate, The wind had graven their small eager hands To feel the forests and the dark nights of Asia Behind the purple bloom of the horizon, Where sails would float and slowly melt away.

Their naked, pure, and grave, unbroken silence Filled the soft air as gleaming, limpid water Fills a spring sky those days when rain is lying In shattered bright pools on the wind-dried roads, And their sweet bodies were wind-purified.

One held a sh.e.l.l unto his sh.e.l.l-like ear And there was music carven in his face, His eyes half-closed, his lips just breaking open To catch the lulling, mazy, coralline roar Of numberless caverns filled with singing seas.

And all of them were hearkening as to singing Of far-off voices thin and delicate, Voices too fine for any mortal wind To blow into the whorls of mortal ears-- And yet those sounds flowed from their grave, sweet faces.

And as I looked I heard that delicate music, And I became as grave, as calm, as still As those carved boys. I stood upon that sh.o.r.e, I felt the cool sea dream around my feet, My eyes were staring at the far horizon:

And the wind came and purified my limbs, And the stars came and set within my eyes, And snowy clouds rested upon my shoulders, And the blue sky s.h.i.+mmered deep within me, And I sang like a carven pipe of music.

MAGIC

I love a still conservatory That's full of giant, breathless palms, Azaleas, clematis and vines, Whose quietness great Trees becalms Filling the air with foliage, A curved and dreamy statuary.

I like to hear a cold, pure rill Of water trickling low, afar With sudden little jerks and purls Into a tank or stoneware jar, The song of a tiny sleeping bird Held like a shadow in its trill.

I love the mossy quietness That grows upon the great stone flags, The dark tree-ferns, the staghorn ferns, The prehistoric, antlered stags That carven stand and stare among The silent, ferny wilderness.

And are they birds or souls that flit Among the trees so silently, And are they fish or ghosts that haunt The still pools of the rockery!-- For I am but a sculptured rock As in that magic place I sit.

Still as a great jewel is the air With boughs and leaves smooth-carved in it, And rocks and trees and giant ferns, And blooms with inner radiance lit, And naked water like a nymph That dances tireless slim and bare.

I watch a white Nyanza float Upon a green, untroubled pool, A fairyland Ophelia, she Has cast herself in water cool, And lies while fairy cymbals ring Drowned in her fairy castle moat.

The goldfish sing a winding song Below her pale and waxen face, The water-nymph is dancing by Lifting smooth arms with mournful grace, A stainless white dream she floats on While fairies beat a fairy gong.

Silent the Cattleyas blaze And thin red orchid shapes of Death Peer savagely with twisted lips Sucking an eerie, phantom breath With that bright, spotted, fever'd l.u.s.t That watches lonely travellers craze.

Gigantic, mauve and hairy leaves Hang like obliterated faces Full of dim unattained expression Such as haunts virgin forest places When Silence leaps among the trees And the echoing heart deceives.

THE HUNTER

"But there was one land he dared not enter."

Beyond the blue, the purple seas, Beyond the thin horizon's line, Beyond Antilla, Hebrides, Jamaica, Cuba, Caribbees, There lies the land of Yucatan.

The land, the land of Yucatan, The low coast breaking into foam, The dim hills where my thoughts shall roam The forests of my boyhood's home, The splendid dream of Yucatan!

I met thee first long, long ago Turning a printed page, and I Stared at a world I did not know And felt my blood like fire flow At that strange name of Yucatan.

O those sweet, far-off Austral days When life had a diviner glow, When hot Suns whipped my blood to know Things all unseen, then I could go Into thy heart O Yucatan!

I have forgotten what I saw, I have forgotten what I knew, And many lands I've set sail for To find that marvellous spell of yore, Never to set foot on thy sh.o.r.e O haunting land of Yucatan!

But sailing I have pa.s.sed thee by, And leaning on the white s.h.i.+p's rail Watched thy dim hills till mystery Wrapped thy far stillness close to me And I have breathed ''tis Yucatan!

''Tis Yucatan, 'tis Yucatan!'