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The Poet

The Medea and also Some Poems (1935)Any human being to AnotherThe ills i sorrow atNot me aloneLike an arrow,Pierce to the marrow,Through the fatAnd past the bone.Your grief and also mineMust intertwineLike sea and river,Be fused and mingle,Diverse however single,Forever and forever.Let no man be therefore proudAnd confident,To think that is allowedA little tentPitched in a meadowOf sun and shadowAll his tiny own.Joy might be shy, unique,Friendly come a few,Sorrow might be scorned come speakTo any whoWere false or ture.Your every griefLike a bladeShining and unsheathedMust to win me down.Of bitter aloes wreathed,My sorrow must be laidOn her head prefer a crown.Only the polished SkeletonThe heart has need of part deceit To make its pistons rise and also fall;For less than this it would certainly not beat. Nor do the washing up the slow vein in ~ all.With subterfuge and fraud the mind must fend and parry thrust for thrust,With reasonable brutal and also unkind Beat turn off the onslaughts that the dust.Only the polished skeleton, Of flesh revlieved and pauperized,Can remainder at ease and also think top top The worth of every it for this reason despised. To FranceThough ns am not the first in English termsTo name you of the earth"s great nations Queen;Though far better poets singing it to the wormsHow the fair city perched upon the SeineIs lovelier 보다 that they travel to;While kings and warriors and many a priestIn your last hour have actually smiled come think of you,Among these counting me not the last nor least.As he who eyes are gouged craves light to see,And he who limbs are damaged strenght to run,So have I seek in you the alchemyThat knits mine bones and also turns me come the sun;And found across a continent that foamWhat was denied my hungry love at home.MedusaI mind me how when first I looked in ~ herA warning shudder in the blood cried, "Ware!Those eyes room basilisk"s she gazes through,And those room snakes you take for strands the hair!"But ns was never one to be subduedBy any fear of aught no reason-bred,And so i mocked the ruddy word, and also stoodTo accomplish the gold-envenomed dart instead.O vengeful warning, spiteful stream, a truce!What boots this consistent crying in the wind,This ultimate indignity: abuseHeaped ~ above a tree of every it foliage thinned?Though blind, however on these arid balls engravedI understand it was a lovely challenge I braved.Sonnet DialogueI to my Soul:Why this preoccupation, soul, through Death,This servile genuflexion to the worm,Making the dig a Mecca wherein the breath(Though still it rises vaporous, yet firm,Expelled from lungs still clear and unimpaired,To plough through nostrils quivering with pride)Veers in distress and also love, together if the daredNot search a gayer place, and also there subside?My spirit to Me:Because the worm chandelier tread the lion down,And in the end shall sicken at its feast,And for a worm of also less renownLoom together a dread but subjugated beast;Because everything lives is granted breathBut by the grace and also sufferance of Death.The Cat(From the French the Baudelaire)Come, lover cat, to this adoring breast;Over your daggers silken scabbards draw;Into thy beauty allow me plunge come rest,Unmindful of your swift and also cruel claw.The if my finger leisurely caressThy head and vaulted back"s elastic arch,And through each tip mysterious pleasures pressAnd crackle on their swift dynamic march,I see revived in thee, felinely cast,A woman through thine eyes, satanic beast,Profound and cold together scythes come mow me down.And from she feet approximately her throat room massedStrange aromas; a perfume indigenous the EastSwims round she body, sinuous and also brown.Scottsboro,Too, Is worth Its SongAs check out by Ossie Davis (A city to American poets)I said:Now will certainly the poets sing.——Their cries go thunderingLike blood and also tearsInto the nation"s ears,Like lightning dartInto the nation"s heart.Against condition and death and also all things fell,And war,Their strophes rise and also swellTo jarThe opponent smug in his citadel.Remembering their sharp and also prettyTunes for Sacco and also Vanzetti,I said:Here too"s a cause divinely spunFor those whose eyes room on the sun,Here in empitomeIs all disgraceAnd epos wrong,Like wine come braceThe minstrel heart, and blare it right into song.Surely, i said,Now will the poets sing.


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