18 IRLF SB lib SDfl 1 OF THE UNIVERSITY A Pagan Anthology Composed of POEMS By CONTRIBUTORS TO THE PAGAN MAGAZINE Pagan Publishing Co. New York City NOTE The Poems in this volume are mainly of the authors own choosing; some of them have appeared in past issues of the Pagan M609461 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY CONTENTS EGMONT HEGEL ARENS Blind Twenty Blocks Fear and Love Remembrance M. ALEXANDER Sheerba Smoke MAXWELL BODENHEIM Soldiers The Walk Intrusion To a Man PAULINE CAHN Rest HART CRANE October-November Fear ROUTLEDGE CURRY An Orchid PAGAN ANTHOLOGY MARY CAROLYN DAVIES Ambition "Also " PAUL ELDRIDGE When I am Dead The Moon and The Ocean You Were So Pure The Forgetful Owls MAX ENDICOFF Lament Drolatique To Whom? At Twilight The Young Officer Tricked ERNESTINE KARA Modern Art JOSEPH U. HARRIS The Play Crossing a Canal-Lock The Street Moths Reincarnate ELIZABETH JAEGER Croak LESLIE NELSON JENNINGS Menage PAGAN ANTHOLOGY ALICE LOUISE JONES Baccante JOSEPH KLING Dedication Portraits Extase Faculty-Parade Farewell Lux in Tenebris Study in Reversion GEORGES LEWYS Burgundy MARJORIE MUIR A New England Town At Noon EDWARD NAGLE The Orange Room RUTH CLAY PRICE Fields Anticipation Strophe Eyes Dearest Tramplers Impressions HELENE THURSTON Sacrifice Fear Moonrise PAGAN ANTHOLOGY WINIFRED WALDRON Three Wash-Drawings The Garbage Man "Know Thyself. Hokku ZELLA MURIEL WRIGHT Delice May Moods A Song Songs of Creation TRANSLATIONS By EDNA W. UNDERWOOD From the French of Gabriel Soulages The Painted Vase Idleness. By JOSEPH RUNG From the French of Fernand Gregh The Stilled Voice From the French of (Author s name lost) Confession From the Jewish of Moishe Nadir Lines on the Death of MoisTie Nadir Lines on Moishe Nadir Redivivus PAGAN ANTHOLOGY From the Jewish of Monnie Laib Monody Winter Rain From the Jewish of Ovro om Raisin Fragment From a Jewish Folk Song Motif 6 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY EGMONT HEGEL ARENS /. Blind II. Twenty Blocks III. Fear and Love IV. Remembrance PAGAN ANTHOLOGY BLIND Seeking God I went to where men worship His name: A lofty temple. "Give us this day our daily bread !" They whined Fervently. The sleek priest was thinking of his dinner with wine after the sermon, And the deacon was gloating over his neighbor s wickedness, And the bald-headed man up in front was thinking of a pair of legs that belonged to a chorus girl, And the pretty woman with the baby eyes was thinking of nothing at all, singing hymns only with her mouth, And the ugly old lady with the hair-lip was hating the beauty of her neighbor. God didn t seem anywhere in evidence, And I started away Thinking to find Him in his old haunts Down by the river Where the whip-poor-will in the willow-tree Sings : "Love-us-Lord ! Love-us-Lord !" But you can t keep God out Even from churches. . . . Up in the choir was a blind girl Singing: "Tho dark my way Lead Thou me on!" PAGAN ANTHOLOGY And where these were blind I knew that she could see The green pastures And still waters. TWENTY BLOCKS The daughters of the rich Go shopping on Thirty-fourth street : They are sweet, round and succulent, Nourished, firm-fleshed, Dainty and expensive morsels To glut desire And deaden the spirit. Down on Fourteenth street There is a waitress in a restaurant, Fresh-skinned and young-limbed, With a gesture that speaks of nodding hill-flow rs in summer. For fifteen cents I order ham and eggs : But she will bring me a vivifying draught For my soul s quickening. . . . PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 9 FEAR AND LOVE Fearing my father, I sat still at table When the boys came up the alley Calling : "Come out! Come out!" And I hated the discipline Which held me there Foolishly. Loving my mate, I sat still at home When Life came up the alley Shouting : "Come out ! Come out !" And I hated the tenderness Which held me there Perhaps wisely. REMEMBRANCE It is holiday time in the woods, And all the trees are to have new dresses To welcome the Spring: But the sombre pine, In his old black clothes, Sighs for the kiss And the clinging love Of winter s snow. io PAGAN ANTHOLOGY M. ALEXANDER /. Sheerba Smoke PAGAN ANTHOLOGY n SHEERBA SMOKE I. On a gaudy rug, To the accompaniment Of crotali and clarinet, Half-naked Little brown-skinned ghawazi, Dance The dance of the wasp. II. An old Jewess, With ravaged features And massive legs, Beckons to passing men. Through the lattice windows Pretty Levantine girls Are seen Lounging about. III. Spinning round and round, Moaning and howling To the shriek and rumble Of barbaric music, Fiendish and terrible Dervishes dance. IV. Boats on the Nile. . . . At sunset they resemble Butterflies a-tremble on open flowers; At night, Sheeted phantoms In the heart of a sapphire. 12 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY MAXWELL BODENHEIM /. Soldiers II. The Walk III. Intrusion IV. To a Man PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 13 SOLDIERS They sprawl in the coffee-colored mud As though they were its lovers, slowly kissing it, But one long crescent of them, dipped in moonlight, Like gray sparrows on whom silver bubbles end lessly sputter, Lies on the stubble of a little hill. The smile of one face is like a fierce mermaid Floating dead in a little pale brown pond. The lips of one are twisted To a hieroglyphic of silence Bearing strands of froth woven by little death- spiders. The face of another is like a shining frog. Another face is met by a question That digs into it like sudden claws. Beside it is a face like a mirror In which a stiffened child dangles from a string. . . . Dead soldiers, in a moon-dipped crescent, Whose faces form a gravely mocking sentence. THE WALK A shadow-leaf parts between fingers ; Its pieces swing upward and wind About the shadowy, blowing, blue hair of the day, But the day shakes them loose, and they shiver down Like bits of fire that have dreamed themselves cold .... So our friendship, as we walk along, Slipped from us, to form a far-off, gossamer beauty, And came back to us, like a dream that wants to sleep. 14 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY INTRUSION The lilies sag with rain-drops. . . . Their petals hold fire that does not break out, (As though it slept between vapor-silk It could not burn) And a young breeze stumbles upon the lilies And strokes them with his hands .... The lilies and the young breeze are not unlike Your silence and the mist of soft words breaking it.. TO A MAN Like sea-foam dancing in the upward swing Of whirling waves that heave against each other Your silken thoughts tremble upward Upon the tumbling passion of your life, And die. But when you bent, inviting a flower To grace a corner of your mind, The sea-foam stayed, and the waves disappeared PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 15 PAULINE CAHN v /. Rest 16 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY REST I am so tired so tired. I see too many people, Read too many books. Do too many things. I hate the theaters, I hate my work, I want you, only you. . . . Come to me between the cool sheets And let me burrow my head in your shoulder. Kiss my two eyes. . . . The moon is making peaceful patches on the yellow coverlet; The hoof-beats of my thoughts are growing faint. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 17 HART CRANE /. October-November II. Fear i8 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY OCTOBER-NOVEMBER. Indian-summer-sun With crimson feathers whips away the mists, Dives through the filter of trellises And gilds the silver on the blotched arbor-seats. Now gold and purple scintillate On trees that seem dancing In delirium; Then the moon In a mad orange flare Floods the grape-hung night. FEAR. The host, he says that all is well, And the fire-wood glow is bright; The food has a warm and tempting smell, But on the window licks the night. Pile on the logs. . . . Give me your hands, Friends ! No, it is not fright. . . . But hold me . . . somewhere I heard demands. And on the window licks the night. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 19 ROUTLEDGE CURRY /. An Orchid 20 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY AN ORCHID. The old mahogany fireplace Had an ample cloth of dark green velvet Over its mantlepiece. On it I placed a slender silver vase, And filled it with a solitary orchid Of rare beauty. The peacock flower Possessed a soft shy face, And it rolled quaint scarlet kisses To me Down curious paths of lavender and gold, Trailing its eager, graceful petals To a point. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 21 MARY CAROLINE DAVIES /. Ambition II. "Also" 22 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY AMBITION The little fire On the hearth Dreaming of forests Where it will One day Race and sing, And we before it Dreaming. "ALSO." Could that man ever have seen the stars, That sacred historian who added, As a careless afterthought, Scrawling it down, perhaps, in the margin for insertion, "He made the stars also"? PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 23 PAUL ELDRIDGE /. When I am Dead II. The Moon and the Ocean III. You Were so Pure IV. The Forgetful Owls 24 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY WHEN I AM DEAD I ll have no compromise, No bargain-driving With the gods. And so, When I am dead, Let them not offer me With oriental hospitality Their Paradise. Let not their angels In cynical humility Wash my feet with myrrh, Anoint my head With perfumed oils, And flap their wings Like silver castanets In mocking merriment. I ll have no dealings With the gods I ve known them too long, And learned the cunning fashion Of their arts. And so, When I am dead, Let vulgar Earth Absorb me with her kiss, And clasp me tightly With her rough unclean arms Against her breast. And when she wearies Of my flesh and bones, Let her crush me in her palms, And render me A blade of grass, To dance a summer s day PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 25 And throw kisses To the stars. Alas, the gods are greedy, And seek their profit, They ll never give me peace, When I am dead They ll offer me Most graciously, Their Paradise. . . ., 26 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY THE MOON AND THE OCEAN (To Sylvia) The Moon, The old roue, Watches with desire The Earth below. The Ocean, Prudish maid, Hides her breasts, Feverishly, But the winds, laughing, Blow off incessantly Her flimsy draperies. The Moon, A golden hoop, Rolls unsteadily Upon the ragged edges Of the shivering clouds. The Ocean, Mischievous girl, Runs after Her hands raised up To catch it, And shouts and laughs In utter merriment. The Moon The painted mountebank Of the infinite circus, Grins and bows To his celestial audience. The Ocean, A clumsy bear Sways and dances PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 27 To the bagpipes Of the merry winds. The Moon, The hoary recluse, Gazes calmly Across eternity, And meditates On Death. The Ocean, The Earth s demagogue, Silver-tongued, Harangues the winds, Persuading them To blow across the Moon And blind him. 28 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY YOU WERE SO PURE You were so pure, So exquisite, I feared to touch Your little hand; I feared to bend upon my knee, And swear eternal passion. You were so tender, So like the bud Of a fragile rose, I dared not whisper, "I love you," That for fear, like a coarse wind, I might tear The delicate petals .... And so I walked away, And wept my sorrow Into my hands. And now you re married You gave a dowry, And bargained cleverly To be a wife. I saw you hang upon his arm, And look with amorous desire Into his eyes, While he was yawning. And so, I walked away, And laughed my sorrow Into my hands. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 29 THE FORGETFUL OWLS Nightly, Silence summons to herself The Owls of the world, And whispers in their feathered ears The Truth of Things, Which they promise To repeat to Man When he wakes. But the Sun, The hater of Truth, Dazzles their round eyes, And they fall asleep, Andr dream And forget. . . And Man seeks Seeks in vain What only Silence And the Owls know. . . 30 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY MAX ENDICOFF I. Lament Drolatique II. To Whom III. At Twilight IV. The Young Officer V. Tricked PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 31 LAMENT DROLATIQUE Death overtook her Like a stealthy storm-cloud Pouncing upon a scintillating sunbeam And engulfing it within a stifling darkness. It was but yesterday That she lay in my arms. . . . Her warm, moist lips were seeking mine, Her soft round arms, Like a noose of quivering satin, Were twined about my neck, And her dark, brooding eyes Flooded the bleak and barren chambers of my heart With the joyous light of love. This thing .... This thing, lying so frigid and inert Upon the bare, unswept floor, And draped in a shroud of melancholy black, Once lived and loved. Now, it means no more to me Than that insignificant little fly That crawls so unconcernedly Upon the cold blanched forehead. And the mourners, With their raucous wails and forced tears, Are splendid buffoons in a mock tragedy. But why why Are the chambers of my heart More bleak and barren Than ever. . 32 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY TO WHOM? (Our losses were trivial, 728 killed and 4,354 wounded. European News Item.) Trivial ? To whom? TO WHOM? Not to the dead, Whose battered bodies Are like the shapeless fragments of an image Carelessly crushed by the wanton hand Of a titanic malevolence. In them, the lust of life Flamed as sharp and clear As in the wheezing breasts of the hounds Who foam and whine For the blood They do not have to give. Trivial ? To whom? TO WHOM? Not to the bereaved at home, The tender women Who make gods of the men they love Their tear-scorched prayers Are of passionate pity for the voiceless dead And of baffled hatred for the boastful living. Trivial ? To whom? TO WHOM? Not to the ferocious enemy, For they too have their dead The uncounted horde of startled beings, That black treachery, With artful and cunning words, PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 33 Had lured from the free and turbulent spaces of life To the bleak, eternal confines Of a hurried and undesired grave. Trivial ? To whom? TO WHOM? AT TWILIGHT A gentle peaceful gray Steals over the sky And rebukes the sun for his flamboyant gaiety Until his head sinks beneath the western rim A street lamp opens wide its yellow eye The staccato stutter of traffic subsides And is lost In the uncanny silence (As of a living thing suddenly touched by death) That hangs over the earth for one brief moment. It is that moment When mankind is wont To lower its weary arms, Lift its drooping shoulders, And listen devoutly To the clangorous call of a church Or to the questioning murmurs of its soul. But this long long line of men, With snarling bayonets aimed straight at the sky, Never heed the voice of either. Stolidly They march, march, march As if they were strange beings Coming from some alien land That knows of neither church nor soul. 34 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY THE YOUNG OFFICER A supple speckless figure in costly habilements With cloth-carved calves, Severe, unbending, breadth of shoulder, And the flippant insouciance Of a service-cap Tipped with diligent carelessness To one side of the head .... To this young untried recruit The War Must be a sartorial adventure, A world- wide exhibition of the tailor s art. TRICKED We walked along the Avenue arm in arm And I, Who hoarded the beauty wrenched from life, (Giving nought in return but sneers of mockery), I, in a moment of wanton recklessness, Opened wide the doors of this prized store-house Filled with memories That are like priceless jewels Torn from the earth with crushed and bleeding fingers. She smiled gently, pressed my arm in sympathy, And stopped before a garish shop-window To admire a hat. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 35 ERNESTINE HARA /. Modern Art 36 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY MODERN ART Arms awry Legs astride . . . This jumbled mass Of humans Sprawling On the green. What demons Set them ^Rolling, Stumbling, Falling crazily Over each other Like a stupid mess Of kittens Rolling downhill To a picnic? . . . . PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 37 JOSEPH U. HARRIS : I. The Play II. Crossing a Canal-Lock III. The Street IV. Moths V Reincarnate 38 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY THE PLAY, I watched you curve your arm over the back of your companion s chair, Sitting behind you in the crowded theatre, Watched him, as the dull performance progressed, Lean back until his head rested upon your arm. I crushed my program in my hand until it was a shapeless mass Then dropped it on the floor listlessly. The performance went on. I do not know whether it was good or bad. I only know that you sat with your arm over the back of the seat in front of me, and that your friend s head rested upon it lightly. As I walked rapidly homeward my eyes were full of tears. But when they asked me about the play, I could not remember. CROSSING A CANAL - LOCK. From this old canal-lock The black water creeps out on either side. There is not a glimmer of light in it; it might be the Styx The night hangs over it like crepe upon a door, Warning away every happy face, every gay footstep. High up the cliff gleam the lights of the dance-pa vilion The faint echo of violins a stray bit of laugh ter Now a single thread of light touches the water like a ray of moonshine wandering over a corpse. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 39 TO A PRIEST I have listened to your profession of faith. I have sat with your sorrowful flock and listened to your expression of confident trust, Your splendid reliance upon the blessed providence of God, the Father, Who "for a purpose" . . . has . . . "in His inscrut able wisdom" . . . "permitted" every un godly thing: Who "has seen fit" ... to meddle with the incon sequential maneuverings of all the ecclesiastics ; Who has been a veritable village-gossip, with a finger in every man s pie ; Who directs battles. . . . And I say to you: O little meddler ! Come down from your little pulpit and take off your little vestments ; And leave your congregation to the holy ministry of silence ! Who are you to proclaim the purposes of the Infinite ! What manner of god is this that you have made in your own image? 40 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY THE STREET Who are you, walking the streets with me tonight? Are you following me, or am I following you? Or is each of us afraid of losing the other? The street divides us. From time to time you glance furtively across at me. Twice now I have caught you, and there were other times that I did not know. From time to time my eyes follow you also. Maybe you have caught me too. Why do you walk so rapidly, as though you were afraid to stop? Listen ! I too am afraid to stop. I have been walk ing through life this way. I do not know what would happen if I did not keep on. I wonder if you have always walked like this, with quick, rapid strides, afraid to look behind you, afraid to stop, even for an instant. Couldn t we couldn t we stop, just for once? I want to talk to you. I know that you could tell me wonderful things. And perhaps you would think the things I should tell you were wonderful. Let us stop, just this once. We are both so tired of walking. Let us stop now. See? I am going more slowly. It is foolish to walk so fast. Now now you are going to stop. We shall tell each other wonderful things. It is over it is over, this endless walking. We are stopping, we are stopping. . . . But you haven t stopped ! Where are you ? What has happened? I cannot see you any longer. O God ! I had forgotten ! The street is between us. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 41 MOTHS We flit about, Dart in and out, Like moths around a flame. We singe our wings with whisperings of cowardice and shame; The hungry fire of our desire Forever burns the same. By passion spurred, Hopes quickly stirred, We flutter here and there. On wings of fear we hover near The lamps enticing glare, Until the light is quenched in night, Our longing in despair. Through endless days, In darkened ways, We crawl with drooping wings. Only at night we take delight In airy wanderings ; And then we seem to only dream A thousand futile things. So here and there, And everywhere, Our weary wings we ply. The lights that lure are never sure, They flare, burn now, and die. Our only song is one of wrong, And our only speech a sigh. 42 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY REINCARNATE Somewhere my spirit, in the long ago, . Communed with yours, or in some ancient land I walked and talked with you. I have clasped your hand Before, somewhere, and in your eyes I know That I have sometimes seen an answering glow Of hope, and longing. (Do you understand?) It seems as if in Time s eternal sand Bright memory-grains illumined the dull flow Of dead hours that make up futurity ; And out of dreams that I have dreamed there rise Visions of you which quell my discontent. Almost I think rare moments we have spent Together thrill me with a sweet surprise As they troop back into my memory. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 43 ELIZABETH JAEGER /. Croak 44 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY CROAK When it darkens and rains I am not anything human : I am a frog. I shelter myself under moss-covered stones, Blink out at people, Who passing leave such queer marks, And say : "Damn the water Damn the mud Damn everything." With relish I croak in my nook. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 45 LESLIE NELSON JENNINGS /. Menage 46 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY MENAGE "Blinds down!" they cry, Mouthing me ancient shibboleths. They say: If one lived alone It would be different. But I cannot understand; I will not hide my thoughts. Let them be lithe girls, Combing their hair Perpetually ; Let them be happy and idle In their clear white muslin shifts. There they stand For all the world to see, Graciously domestic. Oh yes, I know how this revolts them, My neighbors who dwell in splendid, empty houses ; Because they are outraged, Shall I also live in loneliness? Let them say that I keep mistresses, That I am shameless. Nevertheless, My windows shall remain Open to the sky. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 47 ALICE LOUISE JONES /. Baccante 48 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY BACCANTE I bathe in the lush of the moon; Of her shadows I weave From my breast to my knees a whole garment To tantalize Pan! My mouth has the red of the adder With sharp teeth that sting As they close on the mouth of another. My breasts are like great pointed bubbles Which the hands Of some wood-god have fashioned. I wait for the beat of Pan s hoofs As he leaps Pushing great hairy fingers to crumble the shoots Of the vines and bushes that hide me: Then Spring I erect Tossing glad swaying hands and bright shoulders, A moment, And then, Fleet of foot, with wild laughter I whirl and am gone. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 49 JOSEPH KLING /. Dedication II. Portraits III. Extase IV. Faculty-Parade V. Farewell VI. Lux in Tenebris VII. Study in Reversion 50 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY DEDICATION Madre dolorosa O madre mia! The heavy hand of Sorrow Has bowed your head, And the blighting breath of Care Has withered your cheek; Yet your soul s sweet light Shines through its mist of tears Like the beatific smile of Her They call the Queen of Heaven, O madre dolorosa, Madre dolorosa mia! PORTRAITS I. When my friend Don Juan Has left his last love He becomes gravely philosophi Wonders why a man Cannot help making love To every pretty woman That crosses his path Berates himself harshly For his wicked misdeeds, Praises the virtues Of honest married folk, A happy home, loving wife, PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 51 But reminds himself suddenly Of a "pressing engagement" ; Adjusts his cravat, Smiles, And departs II, Sweet half-conscous hypocrite, Golden-haired, apple-cheeked, Plaything of flattery, Woman of women; Grudgingly envious, Hintingly slanderous, Flirtingly philanderous ; To be young, To be tempting, To be tempting Without yielding, The business of life EXTASE (A ma princesse lointaine) Your beauty is a golden tide Half-mist, half-light On which my heart is afloat No cup in Heaven will have The soft red rim of your lips. I hear your voice sing low. The world is fading, dying; Only you and I still live, A flame in the sunless void May the end never be! 52 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY FACULTY-PARADE Tossing cap- tassel : crest of owls, Black gown and hood : livery of crows, Lip-laugh and word-trill: chatter of magpies... Purple damask, Crimson satin, Amethyst velvet, Silvery plush, (For cape and cowl and gaping sleeve) Glorious raiment, All too beautiful For magpies, Crows And owls FAREWELL (To D .) J have placed you In the hollow of my hand Little toy-woman, And I gaze at you disdainfully Or throw you lightly aside. Or half-shut my eyes, And poetize dreamily About your dainty beauty Or put my mouth Close to yours So that I see only The rose-red of your cheek And feel the soft warmth Of your lips. Or whisper half-audibly PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 53 Of the passion that makes My blood a tide of fire...... But after all, You are in the hollow of my hand, I the master, And you the marionette..... * * * My soul craves A nobler happiness Than passionate kisses And the feel of soft flesh In my fingers...... * * * Love is a lie.... Any man-animal Whose lips Are at your throat, Whose hands are eager For your breasts Will drivel with lying tongue About endless love..... * * * Aristocrats or gum-chewers, They purr, and smirk, and sing-song questionmgly, Gaze at each other obliquely, Body to body pressed * * * It is best to live alone, Breathe alone, Dream alone, Alone with one s sacred self, One s reveries, And memories, And heavenly fantasies 54 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY Here I sit and think : The world of women Will fret me no more; And an hour from now, Or to-morrow, it may be, I will be talking to another Pretty one And every nerve in my body Will exult as though Inebriate with wine. Morbleu ! What is this Insanity of man s flesh! LUX IN TENEBRIS It was night. Clouds, A fleet of soft white snow-drift clouds Sailed by On a blue-black sea; And here and there, From the depths of this sea, A star flashed forth With its spear of light And when the clouds sailed close They spread a veil across the moon Till its silver shone Like an opal-tinted aureole. Then grew my heart all glad, For never had I seen Such a silver moon, And such bright star-light, And such snow-drift clouds Asail on a blue-black sky. . . . PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 55 STUDY IN REVERSION I know a human owl. Gray-white beard coming to a point; spectacles like an owl s eyes ; a short fat body. Looks most like an owl when he sits. And he sits almost all the time. In the Library. I have never seen a man able to sit so much, and so long. How he does it? He is heavily-cushioned, below Well, this owl is hooting for war. Think of it: himself incapable of moving faster than a waddling duck as sure of his old hide as a superannuated porker, this creature hoots and grunts and screeches for slaughter and bloodshed. From his perch in the Library. Where he sits. And sits. And sits. 56 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY GEORGES LEWYS /. Burgundy PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 57 BURGUNDY Siege ! Krupps roaring, belching death Flanders Burgundy sucking, feeding on bloodshed ; Manhood s breath red, like blood-fed Burgundy, wed to murdered Liege Further siege! Turmoil Burgundy s soil saturated, with bubbling gore, and craving more Luscious grapes, (Little child-shapes) Rich ripe swelling grapes, from the vine, Sent to the harvest, for wine, To crash down the throats of maddened throngs Then songs And more rich red wine a crimson sea,- Laughter cries the twitch of sodden throats mad jubilee! Women carmine-lipped white bosomed men tongues set free In amorous jest and ribaldry On streaming blood-red Burgundy. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY MARJORIE MUIR /. A N&w England Town At Noon PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 59 A NEW-ENGLAND TOWN AT NOON I walked thru an old New England town, Past the white houses, stiff in their array, The front doors closed, the windows tightly shut, Keeping the strong noon sun from peering in. Flowers, tall, graceful, bright-eyed things Grew hidden in yards where children never played; Past an old grave-yard crammed with ugly ruins Of slabs and crude stone seraphim ; Past a closed school-house it was summer then, Vacation time, but strange to see The streets were free of noise and play. Over the town there hung a solemn hush As tho the villagers had gone to bed To await the end, when all had been decayed. Something had killed the love of life, of youth. The town was senile, filled with lifeless forms Only the clock on the church-top lived And that was turning round and round, Without purpose or will to stop itself. 60 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY EDWARD NAGLE / The Orange Room PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 61 THE ORANGE ROOM Deep within The Orange room, On a shelf of alabaster, Twin sprays of Narcissi Raise their heads From out a green jade bowl, Wonder-eyed, Exhuming a putrescent fragrance Death commingled With perfumed flesh From the silence Without the Orange room Lustful cats Wail harshly. 62 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY RUTH CLAY PRICE /. Fields II. Anticipation III. Strophe IV. Eyes V. Dearest VI. Tramplers VII. Impressions PAGAN ANTHOLOGY FIELDS I am sister of the virgin field, Knowing the unbroken earth. I am sister of the fallow field, Sheathing the blade of the plough. I am sister of the fertile field, Sensing the swelling seed. I am sister of the fruitful field, Rearing the tawny grain. ANTICIPATION Pine tree: Sun still, Blurring the hill ; Thin growing, Wind blowing, Scent sowing ; Fulfill ! PAGAN ANTHOLOGY STROPHE Priest and Priestess At the altar Hymeneal, Make of our love An altar fire Perpetual ; With imagination Tend the flame Immortal : All lovers are given A religious moment Temporal ; Only a few The exaltation Eternal. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 65 EYES Seen from the balcony, looking down : At tables around the dancing floor The midnight crowd is watching The stupid cabaret. Applause. Glasses clink. Louder the music sounds. A dancing f beautiful is girl Flower face. like painted her Cigarette smoke dims the room. Men and women seem but eyes agleam, Eyes, glancing at The dancing. girl is who Passionate thought eyes, Leering, jeering! sneering, A circle of concupiscent eyes Aglitter through the smoke. 66 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY DEAREST Dearest, hark to the song of the bird Now, no longer heard : As the song is lost in the blue, I am lost in you. Dearest, sense the land s perfume Fragrant leaf and bloom : As the fragrance is lost in the sea, You are lost in me. TRAMPLERS Elephants trampling the jungle: Monkeys, aloft, jabbering frantically; the boldest hurling ineffectual cocoanuts. Events trampling the world : individualists, aloof, jabbering frantically; the boldest hurling ineffectual protests. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 67 IMPRESSIONS The virent salt-marsh tide is high to-night, Rippling, swishing through the reeds, The plashy, marshy weeds y That flash of white, a homing gull in flight; Some call it heeds ; Hush! Trembling, the light recedes, the colors die, The sky is gray, the shadow of night Falls black on the water s light. The heavens deepen with stars, the wind glides by, Night seems to sigh, Hush! Through space, from purple sky, the starlight falls On pungent, lisping waves and grasses ; Night s magnetism passes Through the marsh : a distant sea-bird calls, The white mist crawls. Hush, Sh! 68 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY HELENE THURSTON /. Sacrifice II. Fear III. Moonrise PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 69 SACRIFICE Oh Mother Mary mild, Thou gavest him to me, A little child. His lips against my breast, His body next my heart That loved him best. So short a time, Oh God ! The days slipped swiftly past ; The years were trod, And straight and strong and fair He marched away, And left me there To watch and wait and pray, While night piled up on night And day on day. And then they brought him home To me, so white, so still ; And I alone Bend over him and see The promised youth snuffed out ; And tenderly Hold close his fair young head. How can they prate of peace When he is dead? 70 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY FEAR Do you see the gray mists twisting Over the hill, Oh mother mine? .... As if in dumb pain, resisting The elements that seek to bind them to the line Of dark hills yonder Rising to shut the world from view, The world and all its wonder From the great and new . . . Do you see the gray mists curling Like the sea, Oh mother mine, .... As the wind comes whirling To the great waves swirling Over rockbound gray-brown coastline . . . .? Do you hear the ceaseless beating, Mother, as the mists surge overhead As if strange music still repeating, Weird music like lorn dirges o er the dead . . . . ? PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 71 MOONRISE The cool and trailing garments of the dusk Have dimmed the flaming ribbons of the sun. From a walled garden comes the scent of musk. Beyond the darkening shadows of the trees The black garbed mountains guard their mysteries. The night-wind whispers secrets of a tryst The moon must keep with the enchanted world That waits enwrapped in clouds of purple mist Impatiently the hour when radiant light Shall pierce the thralling curtain of the night. At last a faint far lustre tips the mountain s crest, And drenches all the trees with silver rain. The Goddess of the moon, in glittering garments dressed, Comes forth like some fair eastern temple maid; The incense of her draperies fills the glade, A filmy band of mist across her breast The fringes of her robe are caught with stars, And shyly, as if heeding earth s behest, The edges of her veil are gently curled Her face smiles down upon the waiting world. 72 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY WINIFRED WALDRON I. Three Wash-Drawings II. The Garbage Man III. "Know Thyself IV. Hokku PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 73 THREE WASH DRAWINGS I. Pelicans Three white-breasted pelicans Under the thin white moon, They flap and sail And sail and wheel Under the thin white moon. II. Surf Wild white legions of foam! Ever running and racing and dying, Legion following legion Ever the living pursuing the dying. III. Hound of the Sea The Wind is the great white hound of the sea, The Wind goes baying through the cories of the waves, Leaping at the running mountain-tops of foam! 74 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY THE GARBAGE MAN Our smiling garbage man Takes refuse, papers, useless things; He gives a "Yes Ma m, Thank you Ma m For all your garbage !" Strange at times we give the best And then, But what of that? Our garbage man will call again : I shall give the garbage, and receive a hearty "Yes Ma m, Thank you Ma m!" "KNOW THYSELF" My brothers chitter and squeak, Run up cold bars and make faces, Hang by their tails from greasy sticks, Twitter and squabble and grab after peanuts, Handf uls of peanuts held out by some careless fate ; Always peanuts ! The senseless crackle of shells ! Do my brothers think there is nothing higher in Life than peanuts? Only I sit alone in a corner, and improve myself; All day I pick fleas, Cracking them thoughtfully in my teeth. I meditate on my own imperfections 1 My mangy skin, my nests of fleas, I at least am striving after Perfection. My brothers ! Oh, my brothers ! PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 75 HOKKU (Addressed to a Bee) Bringer of pollen Tender task is thy love flight Love is my duty. PRELUDE Leaf-shadows into my lap came sifting, Then into my lap the leaves came drifting. Idly I gathered these gifts of the tree, So would have scattered them, wanderers free: When from the tree came the laughter of strife, Lo the tree was the Tree of Life ! 76 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY ZELLA MURIEL WRIGHT /. Delice II. May Moods III. A Song IV. Songs of Creation PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 77 DELICE It stands out like a flower of pale gold Among all my drab days, That night we two ran afield Through the alfalfa and sweet clover .... The wind blew the shirt from your throat and chest And I marvelled in silence At their beautiful strength .... Then we stood still ; You pressed your lips to my hair And drew my head Close, close to your body Till I heard the mad throb of your heart And the riot of blood in your veins .... Among my colorless drab days There s one flower of pale gold .... 78 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY MAY MOODS (To J. H.) My eyes would burn you up with scorn Were it not for a tinge of pity Because you understand so little .... With unbounded conceit You come Smiling Thinking you are doing well by me. My God ! I have given you my life ! Do you think to repay it with a bauble? (To J. K.) You are like all the others "Will she Or will she not Give me her body?" That is the question That teases and torments you And sends you reeling forth Into the night, Singing to the stars ; Or striding angrily down dusty roads, Striking off the heads Of helpless flowers With your cane. And I smile at your agitation The smile you call inscrutable. I smile because I know Only too well PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 79 That sooner or later sooner or later Even I, Knowing the pain And the cost of the aftermath of love . . . And after you have known The full strength of my arms To hold you. After you have felt the sting and fire of me, After you have known my longest kiss A kiss which almost strangles Instead of being more to you I shall be less And you will go Because No longer I smile The smile The smile you call inscrutable. A SONG My soul is full of poetry to-day ; Even the grey slush is beautiful, And the cars, wet with mist, That splash thru the street. For somewhere I catch the scent of Spring. 8o PAGAN ANTHOLOGY To-morrow The sun ! And the never-ending road Stretching before me. You may starve my body And clothe it in rags; But you can never Imprison my soul. Sometimes A little pain Catches my throat Because the happiness of settled homes Cannot be mine. Here or there I have stopped by the roadside And found joy for a time But not for long. For me It is eternal vagabondage. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 81 SONGS OF CREATION Printemps: It is Spring ! The tense earth waits For the impregnating seed ; The trees droop, caressing the earth ; The plowed fields drink up the rain With a sucking sound. The earth yearns for the impregnating seed; To feel it draw the nourishment Stored in her veins; To feel new life Stirring within her womb. I have builded a house on the hillside And the tang of the fresh-sawn pine Is still in the air; The fireplace is of lichened, igneous rock, And the couch is made Of the fragrant twig of the spruce. It is Spring And I have gone away from the abode of men That I might hear the song of the earth. All night I lay With my ear pressed close to the ground To catch the song. The quiet moon climbed up across the sky And glided behind a covert of young pines Beyond the cabin; The song of the frog calling his mate Came up from the glen below ; But the tense earth moves not And is silent 82 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY For her veins are bursting With the desire for fruitfulness. The birds will not sing tonight Even the trees will not whisper their secret I need the note of the violin To fill in the silence. You must come with your violin Uke thV! 1 1* S u g f PaSSi n and Like the hot breath of a lover, Like his trembling touch, Your notes will wake the earth And set her heart to beating That I may catch the rhythm of it For my song. You will not mind if I do not speak to you Come silently. You will find bread and a wedge o f cheese In the cupboard, And a crock of fresh butter Under the rock by the spring. At dusk you will come And sit in the doorway While I lie upon the ground With my ear pressed close To catch the song of the All-Mother s heart Et6: It is good to be loved. A man waits for me Who will cover my body with kisses- He will bury his face in my hair; He will weep with joy at the touch of me It is good to be loved. I wait for you in the dusk. PAGAN ANTHOLOGY How strange you seem tonight! Your eyes glisten with a burmshed light, Like the eyes of a serpent, Like the eyes of a god. Wherever your eyes are turned upon r, My flesh burns As ito two hot coals were laid upo: 0- take your eyes from me ? Why do you tremble and grow so pale, You who were so radiant and rigid drop weakly in a heap; weSs Sadness; A madne tlat gives you a ten-fold strength. For a second I shrink with fear, Lest in your ferocity, you devour me^ Then I laugh-my whole body laughs; But I move not. On my lips there is a faint smile, Shall I tell you why I smile i I smile because I am happy ; Because this instant is my instant In this eternity of eternities Tonight I understand that life is not The groping, broken, half-thing It has always seemed. 84 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY TRANSLATIONS EDNA W. UNDERWOOD /. The Painted Vase II. Idleness PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 85 I. THE PAINTED VASE La Rosalba disdaining for a day his paints and brushes, Took up a drop of gold. One single drop of gold ; With it he drew upon the flank of this great antique vase, the muses nine. He drew well their floating gowns, their merry scattered locks, Their out-stretched hands that seek each other. Within this vase of antique crystal, nobly lined, I pour liqueur of Dansig. The nine bright muses dance faster. They dance round and round. They dance around a lake on which the leaves of autumn fall. II. IDLENESS My head, my weary head, is like a timid bird that folds itself from cold upon your breast. The hour is gentle! the day is sweet and blue and fine. Autumn about to die caresses us. Na, no rise not, I pray you ! Remain stretched out like this on the divan. I hold your soul beneath my ear. I feel its life. Down there down there through that wide open window the church of the Isle of Tombs I see, while glittering It hangs, a pendant twixt your breasts. 86 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY JOSEPH KLING /. The Stilled Voice II. Strophe III. Lines on the Death of Moishe Nadir IV. Lines on Moishe Nadir Redivivus V. Monody VI. Winter Rain VII. Fragment VIII. Motif PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 87 THE STILLED VOICE The fountain in my garden, That sobbed Like a sorrowing soul Unendingly, Died to-night, And is still .... And the mad wind That flouted her And tore her tinted veil, Now mingles his sighing whisper With the silence of her tomb. In other days The ceaseless falling Of her tears Drop by drop Sounded clear Through the trees, Now the water, Like a lake Of voiceless sobs, Lies dead and still .... Yet her sorrow is not dead: Hush! Methinks I hear The last faint echo Of a moan. . . . 88 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY CONFESSION Love, I have sung high masses to you Unbelievingly, Like a wicked priest, Richly robed, Raising the jewelled ostensory Of my verse To the wondering gaze Of distant multitudes, Swinging the golden censer Of my strophes Till their incense Left my soul Inebriate . PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 89 MONODY She is playing .... Her white lily-fingers Seek the keys in the dark, Longingly stray and seek In the dark , , , And my little ones are weeping .... I dressed them in little white shirts, And put them to bed, And extinguished the lamp .... Made fast the door, Paused a long moment clutching the key, Then hastened, hastened, here .... Here she plays With her fingers lily-white Straying, seeking, Longingly In the dark And my children, My sleepy shirt-clad little ones Are weeping, I m the dark . WINTER RAIN Gray and old, gray and pale, Bent and wet, He totters along Groping about, Swaying in the wind, Sobbing, weeping, over our sins. 90 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY LINES ON THE DEATH OF MOISHE NADIR Composed by His Very Self To the memory of Moishe Nadir, Once among the living, And neatly combed; Who did spend two or three hours daily On the perfect knotting of his cravat, And who loved his every finger nail; Loved, and esteemed, and protected His precious self From approaching locomotives And chilling draughts. ... Now he lies cold, And uncombed, And without a cravat. . . . And I, With a smile, And a bow of reverence, Place here at his feet A wreath of verse. , PAGAN ANTHOLOGY 91 LINES ON MOISHE NADIR JREDIVIVUS Halleluja! I sing to you my beloved friend, Moishe Nadir .... So sad it was, So very sad, The thought that you are dead, Without a soul, And a cravat, And all sinful desires . . . And now, Oh, how I rejoice That you are thoroughly alive again, And blithe, And youthful, And popular with the ladies, And a brilliant after-dinner speaker And how sweet it was Of your handsome father And charming mother To marry each other That they might bear you, Their adored son, Their prodigy .... Halleluja! 92 PAGAN ANTHOLOGY FRAGMENT The candle s tallow Drips and drips Till the flickering flame expires, So the flame of my soul In the Prayer-House wanes, Till like the candle anon It will faint and expire. MOTIF On the garret sleeps the roof Covered snug with shingles small, But naked lies my little babe In its crib by the mold ring wall. 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. LIBRARY USE NOV 1 5 1957 HOV 1 1988 11 \J w AUTGDi$G.ggOl 88 General Library LD 21A 50m-8, 57 University of California (C8481slO)476B Berkeley <YC 1 08065 U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES il