SAMPHIRE SAMPHIRE BY JOHN COWPER POWYS r * "Half way down Hangs one that gathers Samphire, dreadful trade I Methinks he seems no bigger than his head." King Lear. Act IV. Scene VI, NEW YORK THOMAS SELTZER 1922 Copyright, 1922, by THOMAS SELTZER, INC. All rights reserved PRINTED IK THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA DEDICATED TO LLEWELYN POWYS rr O a ? .* CONTENTS PAGE THE ULTIMATE 1 DEMOGORGON 4 THE OLD PIER-POST 6 THE CASTLE OF GATHORE 9 THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS 13 THE FACE 16 THE HERON S NEST 19 LUBBERLU .22 THE OLD SATYR TO THE YOUNG PLATONIST . 25 YOUTH AND AGE 28 METAPHYSIC 31 THE MALICE-DANCE 34 CANDLE LIGHT 36 THE ECLIPSE 39 THE RIDER 43 WILLIAM CORBY 46 To A CERTAIN LADY ...... 47 THE "DISASTER" 49 NOVEMBER gj BON ESPOIR Y GIST Au FOND! . 52 SAMPHIRE THE ULTIMATE So this is the ultimate That we bleed with our backs to the wall, While the rats and weasels of fate Eat at our liver and gall; Eat at our hearts with teeth of bane, And tug at the sick white roots of pain Where every man s alone, And scrape a tune on the deep nerve-string That is love and life and everything, And gnaw our flesh to the bone. Is this the ultimate? No! This is nothing at all! Some human dramas stop with this; With this some curtains fall. But the play that the high gods love In their Theatre of Space Has the mind, the mind for the stage thereof And the soul for its dancing place ! Oh shapes of terror and fear, Oh shapes of loathing and lust, That gibber and jibe at us here Ye break earth s shallow crust. Far back that stage recedes Who knows where that stairway goes? Who knows where that passage leads? And that door? Who knows? Who knows? For the rats that again and again Gnaw at each rib and joint Of the vessel of our pain Stop gasping at this point; [2] And in crowds they flee from the ship That steers for the open sea And turns the prow of its bleeding lip Towards eternity! [3] DEMOGORGON I am the Devil of Notre Dame. Salaam ! I dance my dance and I work my charm. Salaam ! I cling to terror by the hair of her head, I have taken Medusa to my bed. I hug the Nightmare until she is dead. Salaam ! Hush ! By the Lord s side I have stood Touch wood ! Before Orion rose out of the sky Rose I! Before the Hunter hunted the Ram I am I am the Demon of Socrates On your knees ! [4] The oldest of the Eumenides The she-ape of Mephistopheles The deadly wind in Dodona s trees The poisonous smoke twixt the Pythia s knees I am more terrible than these ! In Jotunheim, Loki I m called Scald! I am Asmodeus in Babylon. In Egypt I am Osiris son I am many and I am One. At the Beginning I stood by the Lord God! At the last I shall be the Worm of the Pit Uncurled Who swallows Him and who swallows It His World! THE OLD PIER-POST I am the sea-ward-looking one, Covered with weed and slime "Fresh fish for sale !" of a row of posts, That rotted by centuries nod like ghosts To the ebb and flow of time. Sea-tangle and sea-scum Will the Christ never come? Two lovers that met at this ocean-mart, With kissings and clingings pale Breaking the shell of a human heart And tearing its bleeding core apart, "Fresh fish, fresh fish for sale !" [6] Left a tress of shining hair on me; And two sea-gulls that once were mates But were wrenched away by the blinding spray And the unrelenting fates, Left a feather on me, a shining feather, With sea-scum covered and scales Of the mackerel bright they had caught together, "Fresh fish for sale!" in the wild storm-weather And the fury of the gales. And the terrible ultimate thought of one Who had scooped at the shingle of things Till he d taken the light from the kindly sun "Fresh fish for sale!" and to death had done The light that the sweet moon brings, Graved itself on the grey sea-mark Wherewith with eyeless stare [7] I frown at the twilight and face the dark -"Fresh fish for sale!" and with forehead star] Confront a world s despair. A shining tress, a feather, a thought With these I create a soul, A soul that is not to be sold or bought; Yes; I who am nought and less than nought "Fresh fish for sale !" have something caught From the waters as they roll ! Yes; I, the sea-ward-looking one, Covered with weed and slime, Have gathered a soul to rest upon As I rock to the rhythm of time. Bright hair, bright feather, brain-disease Blotting the sun and moon If an old sea-pier steals a soul from these, Christ must be coming soon! [8] THE CASTLE OF GATHORE There is a place none knows but I The Castle of Gathore ! Black murky pools about it lie. And the trees are sick with its mystery; And dead things are its floor. Each tree with twisted root entwines The bones of older trees. Moon after moon above them shines Beyond the moon the Zodiac signs! Beyond them the Immensities! [9] None would think that ever such pools could be ! Black morgues of leafy doom, Where century after century Old forests find their tomb. Oh terrible steps of leaf -mould sod Such as man never saw That mount up holy Mother of God! To the Castle of Gathore! And I alone yes only I Under Algol and Altair When a new-born moon was in the sky Climbed up that mossy stair. Old Cypress-roots of long decay Troubled my noiseless tread; [10] Old Yews made midnight of the day As they met above my head. Out of the trees, tier above tier, Mossed stone above mossed stone, Buttress on buttress, it towered there, A Nightmare image, a thing of fear, Revealed to me alone! My home ! My home ! To my heart I said My home ! To my soul I cried From here have been wafted those airs of the dead That have driven my true love from my bed, And my true love from my side ! This is what divides me from him and her And the blessed light of the sun; Till the eyes of Algol and of Altair Are my only benison! This is what they guessed when in dumb surprise They turned and let me pass This is what they saw behind my eyes Like a phantom in a glass ! They saw those towers; they saw those trees ; And I am alone once more Alone with the Immensities And the Castle of Gathore ! [18] THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS In a long sad row the old gods come; They come and bow to me. Like candle-flames in a raftered room, Like trees in an avenue of doom, They bend in unity. And a sound comes from them, a terrible sound, Like the wind in a tamarisk grove, Or a howl from some treacherous marshy ground Where the swamp-demons move. And in that moan is the cracking of sticks Where Behemoth stalks thro the trees ; And in that moan is the flame that licks The knees of Rameses: And in that moan rocks Nineveh With her golden roofs and floors ! And in that moan quakes Babylon With her columned corridors ! From my little green seat of piled-up sods Like a dwarf on a churchyard mound I watch that row of bowing Gods And I hear that terrible sound. They nod and mutter ; they sway and bend Like monoliths of stone, Like huge gaunt birds on a branches end, And as they bend they moan. They shiver like monstrous skeleton leaves; They rattle like gibbets stark; They reel like ruined autumn sheaves In the stubble of the dark. [14] Their eye-sockets are hollow and deep; Their foreheads are cliffs of doom; And they bleat at me like gigantic sheep That are herded in a tomb. And very slowly I lift my head And slowly I lift my hand And a row of horny beetles dead Lie scattered in the sand ! [16] THE FACE In the hollow spaces I see a face As I go whistling to my Dear, And in those lineaments I trace The ultimate Fear. Throned on the dark that face I see, As I go whistling to my Doll; Of human terror the apogee Fol-de-rol ! The wreckage of the whole damned race, As I go whistling to my white bird, Is in that wavering ghastly face That speaks no word ! Is that face moulded by treachery As I go whistling to my Poll, And carved by lust out of lechery? Fol-lol-de-rol ! Has it woven itself out of ancient sorrows As I go whistling to my maid, Out of all the To-days that to all the To morrows Shriek "betrayed !" I like not to see that face in the night, As I go whistling to my own : A terrible face for the sweet moonlight To shine upon ! But as long as those lips utter no sound, As I go whistling to my Troll, [17] All is yet well above the ground, Fol-lol-de-rol ! Oh white, white lips that hang so mute, As I go whistling to my Love, That ultimate Fear would be absolute If you should move! [18] THE HERON S NEST The World-Mother sits on her sky-blue eggs "A mare s nest !" cries the minstrel, laughing. "Her wings are lovely but what of her legs?" Cries the youngest page to the courtiers scoffing. "A wicked bird/ cries the mitred priest "To lay blue eggs and to sit on them! Blue is no colour for bird or beast Blue is the colour of our Lady s hem." "A shameless bird !" cries the old queen mother, "Eggs should be mottled white, not blue." "A pox on the bird!" cries the old king s brother- "There s no such bird!" cry the courtier crew. [19] Home from hunting returned the King White as a young birch-tree was he. "Ye are all of you plotting a cursed thing! "And evil is your conspiracy ! "I have seen the World-Mother upon her nest; I have seen those eggs, blue as the sky; And for what I have seen I would give the rest Of my kingdom; and willingly die!" And the minstrel winked at the youngest page; And the old queen pinched the fool; And the mitred priest to hide his rage Grinned at them like a ghoul. "Down on your knees to the great World-Mother! Tis I, your King, who begs." But they stood stock-still and stared at each other [20] "The King is mad/ cried the old king s brother. "I ve traveled the world from one end to another Those eggs are Heron s eggs !" From the walls of the Madhouse upon the hill, When this traveler came to be crowned At the Queen s and the Priest s and the Courtier s will, There fell a curious sound A sound that was like the flapping of wings; And a radiant voice that was like the King s ! [21] LUBBERLU "Green were her eyes, yellow were her eyes Her eyes were like withered sedge!" "This is holy Mass and the hour flies And there is red in the church-yard hedge. "Raise me aloft my taper s flame, Light me my candles three, For I must call on the Baby s name Who is born to young Mary!" "O father, I see a blood-red streak In the reeds where first I caught her And I hear a cry makes my heart weak And turns my bones to water. [22] "The marsh-bittern and lone curlew That cry comes not from them " "Bring me bread and wine my Lubberlu, And hold my vestments hem ! "T^he candles burn The oxen kneel. Boy, bring me my holy book Born is the King of Israel!" "Oh father, my father, look! "She is pressing her face gainst the window-pane, Where the saints stare in a row And her lips are red with the morning s stain And her cheeks are white like snow !" " Tis Christmas morn and the mass unsung For the Baby of young Mary!" But the idiot-boy from his side had sprung. At the window prone was he. [23] And the oxen knelt in their frozen shed And the sheep in their hurdled pen; But Lubberlu lay stark and dead, He never will come again. They sign his breast and they sign his brow With the cross to which they pray But two lost souls are flying now Over the reeds and over the snow, Over the hills and away. [24] THE OLD SATYR TO THE YOUNG PLATONIST Go and get a monk for a lover, And let me quietly sit On this warm stone which the lichens cover. I have had enough of it ! Did the high gods carve your polished flanks And make liquid your hazel eyes, That two should stand on a river s banks And offer up the scurvy thanks Of being over wise? Let me alone. I have heard your tale, How Love is this and how Love is that. [26] Is not milk still white in the pail And wine still red in the vat? I would have gathered you moschatel, Wood-spurge, wood-sorel, wood-saxifrage! When the moon rode forth I d have taught you to tell Every star in her equipage ! Because I d loved you with satyr passion Were that a reason I should not keep Tenderness in my goat-foot fashion, And watch beside your sleep? The oldest of Centaurs is my brother The wild wood-ways are in my blood My mother was the great earth-mother Yet I can love you as well as another For all my satyrhood ! [26] Go find your friend. I have pride of my own, But every noon I ll sit On this warm lichen-covered stone, And perhaps you ll come back to it ! Perhaps when they talk of Love one day In their high platonic hall, You will curse their chatter and flee away And find your Satyr s grave and say, "His love was best of all !" [27] YOUTH AND AGE "O wanton youth, this wind was not Over common highways blown From gardens far from here God wot ! It has caught that plaintive tone. Listen ! But ah ! It touches you not ! Listen ! But ah ! I had forgot The heart of youth is stone. "Did you not know such places were? Lovely are they and few^ The gardens that breathe such perfumed air ! Listen! But what care you? Over many a moon-lit terraced spot It has come to claim its own [28] Over Marjoram and Melilot, Over London Pride and Bergamot, It has come to trouble, doubt it not, All hearts save those of stone !" "I like not this breath in the swaying grasses ! I like not that shadow on the rustling trees! I suspect that wind as it softly passes Back to its garden of memories ! Your walled-up pansies are faded and sere; Your dark parterres of cypress-green Make the very lizards listen in fear Of phantom footsteps and forms unseen. Your fountains are choked with hemlock weeds, The toad croaks there and the night-owls call. There are wandering dandelion-seeds Where red rose-petals were wont to fall ! Oh woe-begone one, you can tempt me not [29] With your proud sad gardens, your wind that sighs, Your Mignonette and your Melilot! The heart of youth is wise." [30] METAPHYSIC Dearie I! When I up and follows Grand-dad Cooper s cross-cut road, The road that from Hawk s Hill to Green Lane Hollows Is nought but rabbits and cuckoos and swallows And fields with turnip sowed, Dearie I ! the road that over Badger s Warren and Turnstile Hill Skirts park-fence by Witham s Cover, Where old man Rob caught young Nell s lover, And leads to Dead Man s Mill, [31] Dearie I ! I do stop and hear Out of wind a terrible sound; And Almighty, he do whisper clear Like a girt wold owl long-side my ear "Nancy girl, this be holy ground !" Dearie I ! And he says to me "You ve been here, Nancy, long ere this !" And he lifts the veil of his mystery From the face of his abyss. And high Hawk Hill and Green Lane Hollows Grow only dreams that I have dreamed; And Grand-dad s road with its cuckoos and swallows, The road an old fox-bitch still follows, Is a fairy-place that only seemed ! [32] And Dead Man s Mill grows doubly dead, For its old-time pond of terribleness, And him it drowned, like mists are fled! And nought bides there but nothingness ! Gone, gone all gone shadows and dreams! Dearie I ! and twere Grand-dad s road Whereon a drove Squire Withy s teams And many a turnip-load ! [33] THE MALICE-DANCE An intolerable singing From an ancient haunted lawn Where the ghost-moths whitely winging Cross a moon-dial forlorn, Drew me from you as you trifled With the jasmin in your hair, Dreaming that your beauty rifled All my sense and held me there; But I left you; and, escaping With a lost tune in my head, Set my memory reshaping The old dances of the dead. And the intolerable singing [34] Heard across that haunted lawn, Drew me to the ghost-moths winging, Round that moon-dial forlorn. Over me the clouds were running Races with the naked stars, And dark Yews were making cunning Love to whispering Deodars. And the ghost-moths drugged my reason, And I danced to that old tune Malice dances full of treason Round that dial of the moon ! [35] CANDLE LIGHT Hush, true Love, as we sit and think And talk to shadows and watch the coals Redden up from beyond the brink Of the common reach of our souls. Do you not catch a cry in the air? No ! That is the wind in the chimney calling ! That is a curtain fluttering there ! That is a dead branch falling! Burning wood when candles are lit Has a bitter-sweet breath that can carry far; That can carry two lovers from where they sit [36] To the edge of the sea and over it Where the unknown islands are. -j Burning wood has a wizard spell Full of old sad stories and long-dead things; Like myrrh and cassia is that smell, From the sepulchres of kings. And whenever lovers like you and me Sit together of a winter s night, There s a cry on the wind, there s a cry on the sea There s a tongue in the candlelight. And a great host gathers out of the dark From wild far places, from sunk sea-walls, From fallen roofs where hyaenas bark From ruined tents and kraals. [37] It gathers towards us while you and I Talk to old shadows and sit and stare, And let time and space and the world go by Like smoke upon the air. And as we gaze at the reddening coals Lost in that amorous host are we; That vast procession of lovers souls Drowns our identity. A procession, divided like Plato s dream, But rushing together on a winter s night, When the casement shakes and the red coals gleam And we kiss by candle light ! [38] THE ECLIPSE I said, Tonight is her plenilune, And the wise astronomers held their peace, I said, Tonight this naked moon To her prisoned passion will give release; And she shall gather the forests to her And draw the oceans up to her breast. The mountain-torrents shall leap to undo her, And the virgin valleys shall be at rest: And the fish from their fathomless feeding-ground In finny circles shall upward move, And the furry things at the lightest sound Shall make the forest ache with love! And fallen boughs that for centuries Have dreamed, I said, of such a night [39] Shall feel in their mossy mortuaries The living touch of her liquid light! Great promontories, where dawn by dawn Cormorants seeking the open sea With yearning jet-black necks up-borne Steer to the shoals of immensity, Shall thrill as they feel that naked shape Draw near with its luminous languorous power, And over continent and cape Float like an amorous lotus-flower. Now, I said, with that moon at full, While the wise astronomers kept them still, Maids will grow more than beautiful, And starved love-longings will have their will! Now, I said, in this perfect night, Lips that have paled and pined for passion Will take at last their full delight [40] Mouth upon mouth in sweet lunar fashion! Tonight is the night, I said to them all, While the wise astronomers held their peace, That Christ s own cloak on Love shall fall And let mortal longings have full release ! Then I looked up. Oh pity, oh loss Irremediable ! For behold the shade Of our own dark planet crept across, And on that glory its image laid. Treachery in the heavens ! It grew That shadow of evil and suppression Larger and larger with the smouldering hue Of the old intolerable repression! It grew like some monstrous shadow of doom Crossing the threshold of a happy king Who begins to reck that his bridal-room Will be the place of his murdering! Terribly, inch by inch it grew. Carved with the ruinous runic scrolls Of our ancient woe and well I knew Betrayed once more were our human souls. Treachery in the heavens ! From land And sea and every forest way, From frightened pastures and darkened sand Rose up a cry of wild dismay And Christ bent down and hid His head; And the haters of love laughed in their bed; And "The Law is the law," the astronomers said ! [42] THE RIDER On the horses of desire Over the tossing trees I have hunted the Pillar of Fire To his inmost fastnesses. On the eagles of despair Where the thunders meet, I have hunted the Powers of the Air To their last retreat. [43] Over chasm and over crag On the horned moon riding, I have hunted the night-hag To her furthest hiding. On the lions of exultation I ride to my doom! No tears of human desolation Shall find my tomb. [**] WILLIAM CORBY I drive my cows to Corby; On sweet spring-grass they re fed; But it s Madge who nestles wantonly In William Corby s bed. I drive my sheep to Corby, And the gold-dust s on the willow; But it s Nellie s winsome curls that lie On William Corby s pillow. I drive my geese to Corby When the bind-weed s in the wheat; But it s Bess who cuddles warm and sly Neath William Corby s sheet. [45] I drive my pigs to Corby; And the hips and haws are red; But none but me will mind o* he When William Corby s dead ! [46] TO A CERTAIN LADY They tore her scarlet gown. "What s in a kiss?" she said But they hunted her up and they hunted her down From end to end of their moral town, Till they left her there for dead. But the bleeding throat of her cry Was heard in another place; And those who are older than earth or sky The austere ones of eternity . . . They knew her of their race. [47] "What s this?" they said. "For a kiss?" said they; And they took the red from the dawn, And they took the dance from the salt-sea spray, And they took the purple out of the day, And the yellow out of the corn. "Give her life, give her love, give her peace," they said. "Give her back her scarlet gown; Or with ashes of death upon every head Dead you shall skip to the tune of the dead In your moral modern town !" [48] THE "DISASTER" Without rudder, without sail Drifts my soul, the brig "Disaster/ And the madness of the gale Takes the place of mate or master ! Covered is its ghostly keel With sea-slime, sea-weed, sea-crust; And its bulkheads groan and reel ; And its bolts are caked with rust; Storm-tossed sea-gulls phantom-white On the spars of the "Disaster" Scream while the great winds of night Drive the derelict still faster. [49] And the drowned men floating deep Leagues beneath that churning sea, Mutter in their careless sleep, "The brig Disaster goes merrily!" And the brig "Disaster" drives right on, Without captain, without mate, Top-sails, bowsprit, compass gone, Lost exultant, desolate ! NOVEMBER I will come back to you and you to me; When the poplar-trees blow white and the rooks fly home, And the fishermen draw their nets out of the sea; I will come back to you and you to me. When across the flooded weirs the wild-fowl fly, When the dead leaves fall from each remembered tree, When over the withered grass the plovers cry, I will come back to you and you to me. [61] BON ESPOIR Y GIST AU FOND! One shimmering opal is all the air And the sun like a young girl s loosened hair Covers with pools of liquid yellow Window-sill, floor, and bed and pillow! And I touch the secret yet have it not. It is God ! I ve forgotten what Yet the lovely madness wherewith we re mad, For no king s penny is to be had ! Ha ! Monsieur Maggot and my Lord Rat More s in this business than you guess at! The road-dust sleeps in the summer-heat And the hot noon drowses on ripened-wheat, [52] And from weed to weed in the burnt-up grass Heavy-winged butterflies flutter past. Ha ! Monsieur Maggot ! Ha ! my Lord Rat, There s more in this business than you guess at ! The moon floats high like a silver barge, And the bracken ferns grow strange and large, And the bull-rushes forget to shiver As she pours her magic on meadow and river; And the tall pond-reeds, where the cattle cross, Stand silent; and silent dreams the moss; And the hazel-wood as the owl hoots by, Is too moon-tranced to heed his cry Ha! Monsieur Maggot and my Lord Rat, Here s something for you to squinny at! We pine and pine but by Holy Rood There s something here not understood And we are not yet the Devil s food ! [53] THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. APR LI 1934 13 1934 1936 Mb 65 -S LD 21-1, Jfe L ^O I rp * f- IEP 23l92l ^. THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY