beat his sails flat,
shift a wave sideways
that he suffocate.
O you waves,
run counter to his oars,
waft him to blistering shores,
where he may die of thirst.
O you skies,
send rain
to wash salt from my eyes,
and witness all earth and heaven,
it was of my heart-blood
his sails were woven;
witness, river and sea and land;
you, you must hear me man is a devil,
man will not understand.
ODYSSEUS (on the sea) She gave me fresh water in an
earth-jar,
strange fruits
to quench thirst,
a golden zither
to work magic on the water;
she gave me wine in a cup
and white wine in a crystal shell;
she gave me water and salt,
wrapped in a palm leaf
and palm-dates:
she gave me wool and a pelt of
fur,
she gave me a pelt of silver-fox,
and a brown soft skin ofa bear,
she gave me an ivory comb for
my hair,
she washed brine and mud from
my body,
and cool hands
held balm
for a rust-wound;
she gave me water
and fruit in a basket,
and shallow
baskets of pulse and grain, and
a ball
of hemp
for mending the sail;
she gave me a willow basket
for letting into the shallows
for eels;
she gave me peace in her cave.
CALYPSO (from land) He has gone,
he has forgotten;
he took my lute and my shell of
crystal —
he never looked back —
ODYSSEUS (on the sea) She gave me a wooden flute,
and a mantle,
she wove of this wool —
CALYPSO (from land) -for man is a brute and a fool.
The Dancer
I
I came far,
you came far,
both from strange cities,
I from the west,
you from the east;
but distance can not mar
nor deter
meeting, when fire meets
ice or ice
fire;
which is which?
either is either;
you are a witch,
you rise out of nowhere,
the boards you tread on,
are transferred
to Asia Minor;
you come from some walled town,
you bring its sorcery with you;
I am a priestess,
I am a priest;
you are a priest,
you are a priestess;
I am a devotee of Hecate,
crouched by a deep jar
that contains herb,
pulse and white-bean,
red-bean and unknown small leek-stalk and grass blade;
I worship nature,
you are nature.
II
I worship art;
I am now from the city
of thinkers, of wisdom-makers,
and I watch as one come from afar
in a silver robe;
I carry no wine-jar;
I watch intent,
as one outside with whom is the answer;
intelligence alert,
I am here to report,
to say this is
or is not
God;
I am perfectly aware,
perfectly cold;
a girl clutches her lover’s wrist,
I do not care,
(I am perfectly aware of what you are doing,
of what seeds you are sowing)
I know what this youth thinks,
what nerve throbs in that old man,
how that wan soldier
back from the last war,
feels healing, electric, in a clear bar,
where an arm should be;
nothing is hidden
from me;
if you make one false move,
I will slay you;
I hate and have no fear,
you can not betray me,
you can not betray us,
not the Sun,
who is your Lord;
for you are abstract,
making no mistake,
slurring no word
in the rhythm you make,
the poem,
writ in the air.
III
Fair,
fair,
fair,
do we deserve beauty?
pure,
pure
fire,
do we dare
follow desire
where you show
perfection?
loveliest,
O strong,
ember
burns in ice,
snow folds over ember;
fire flashes through clear ice,
pattern frozen is red-rose,
rhododendrons bend under full snow,
yet each flower retains colour;
the rhododendrons are in flower
and snow covers
the flame heat
of purple,
of crimson,
of dark-blue,
of pale-blue,
of white
crystal
calyx;
miracle,
miracle of beauty returned to us,
the sun
born in a woman.
IV
We are more than human,
following your flame,
O woman;
we are more than fire,
following your controlled
vibrance;
we are more than ice,
listening to the slow
beat of our hearts,
like under-current of sap in a flowering tree,
covered with late snow;
we are more than we know.
V
Give us the strength to follow,
the power to hallow
beauty;
you are wind in a stark tree,
you are the stark tree unbent,
you are a strung bow,
you are an arrow,
another arrow;
your feet fling their arrows,
your twin arrows,
you then pulse into one flame;
O luminous,
your feet melt into folded wing,
to mer-maid’s tail;
O love in the circle
of opening,
of closing,
of opening;
you are every colour of butterfly,
now in a frail robe, you are a white butterfly;
burning with white fervour,
you are moon-flower,
seen in water.
VI
You are every flower,
I can not stop to name;
nor do I claim
precedence among the harp-players;
my song-note falters;
I claim no precedence among the flute-players,
for I could not maintain
presence enough to stand,
there at your feet
with the rest,
making that music;
I can not name
the Doric nor the Ionic
measure,
nor claim greatness;
I have gained
no laurel
at Delphi;
but he,
your Father,
burning sun-lover
has yet had his jest,
has said, among all these
there is one voice,
one councillor;
listen,
Rhodocleia,
he says;
“dance for the world is dead,
dance for you are my mistress,
you are my stylus,
you write in the air with this foot,
with that foot,
with this arrow;
your flung hand
is that pointed arrow,
your taut frame
is one arrow,
my message;
you are my arrow,
my flame;
I have sent you into the world;
beside you,
men may name
no other;
you will never die;
nor this one,
whom you see not,
sitting, sullen and silent,
this poet.”
VII
O let us never meet, my love,
let us never clasp hands
as man and woman,
as woman and man,
as woman and woman,
as man and man;
O let us never speak, my love,
let us never utter
words less than my heart-beat,
words less than your throbbing feet;
white cygnet,
black missel-thrush,
let us never crush
breast to breast,
let us never rush
purple to purple fire,
wide flowers,
crushed under the glory
of god in the whirl-wind,
of god in the torrent;
O chaste Aphrodite,
let us be wild and free,
let us retain integrity,
intensity,
taut as the bow,
the Pythian strings
to slay sorrow.
VIII
There is much to know
and little time,
O bright arrow;
there are many to heal
and few to feel
the majesty
of our King;
there is little to know
and all eternity,
O my sister;
there is no hurry,
no haste,
no waste,
only leisure;
infinite leisure
to proclaim
harmony,
our Master.
IX
So haste not,
bright meteor;
waste not strength,
O fair planet,
singing-sister;
move delicate strength,
pause,
never-weary pallor;
gather blue corn-flowers,
bind poppies in your hair,
O Priestess;
teach men
that the sun-disk
is bearable,
and his ardour;
dare further,
stare with me
into the face of Death,
and say,
Love is stronger.
X
Rhodocleia,
rhododendron,
sway, pause, turn again;
rhododendron,
O wide rose,
open, quiver, pause
and close;
rhododendron,
O strong tree,
sway and bend
and speak to me;
utter words
that I may
take
wax
and cut upon my tablets
words to make men pause
and cry
rhododendron
to the sky;
words that men may pause
and kneel,
broken
by this pulse we feel;
rhododendron,
laurel-tree,
sway, pause,
answer me;
you who fled your Lord and Sire,
till he pulsed to such desire
that no woman ever
could
after,
bear his sacred brood;
only singing fools and deft
trees
might speak
his prophecies.
XI
Rhododendron,
O wild-wood,
let no serpent
with drawn hood,
enter,
know the world we know;
rhododendron,
O white snow,
let no mortal ever know
mysteries
within the fold
of purple
and of rose
and gold
cluster
of this sacred tree;
rhododendron,
swear to me,
by his mountain,
by his stream,
none shall mar
the Pythian dream.
XII
We will build an altar here,
swear by wood, by hill, by star,
swear by wind, by curve of bay
where his leaping dolphins lay,
singing to the priests, on high
build the altar
let life die,
but his song shall never die.
XIII
Leap as sea-fish
from the water,
toss your arms as fins,
dive under;
where the flute-note
sings of men,
leaving home
and following dream,
bid men follow
as we follow;
as the harp-note tells of steel,
strung to bear immortal peril,
(pleasure such as gods may feel)
bid men feel
as we feel.
The Master
I
He was very beautiful,
the old man,
and I knew wisdom,
I found measureless truth
in his words,
his command
was final;
(how did he understand?)
when I travelled to Miletus
to get wisdom,
I left all else behind,
I fasted,
I worked late,
rose early;
whether I wore simple garments
or intricate
nothing was lost,
each vestment had meaning,
“every gesture is wisdom,”
he taught;
“nothing is lost,”
he said;
I went late to bed
or early,
I caught the dream
and rose dreaming,
and we wrought philosophy on the dream content,
I was content;
nothing was lost
for God is all
and the dream is God;
only to us,
to us
is small wisdom,
but great enough
to know God everywhere;
O he was fair,
even when I flung his words in his teeth,
he said,
“I will soon be dead
I must learn from the young”;
his tyranny was absolute,
for I had to love him then,
I had to recognise that he was beyond all-men,
nearer to God
(he was so old)
I had to claim
pardon,
which he granted
with his old head
so wise,
so beautiful
with his mouth so young
and his eyes —
O God,
let there be some surprise in heaven for him,
for no one but you could devise
anything suitable
for him,
so beautiful.
II
I don’t know what to suggest,
I can hardly suggest thing
s to God
who with a nod
says, “rise Olympos,
sink into the sea
O Pelion,
Ossa,
be still”;
I do not know what to say to God,
for the hills
answer his nod,
and the sea
when he tells his daughter,
white Mother
of green
leaves
and green rills
and silver,
to still
tempest
or send peace
and surcease of peril
when a mountain has spit fire:
I did not know how to differentiate
between volcanic desire,
anemones like embers
and purple fire
of violets
like red heat,
and the cold
silver
of her feet:
I had two loves separate;
God who loves all mountains,
alone knew why
and understood
and told the old man
to explain
the impossible,
which he did.
III
What can God give the old man,
who made this possible?
for a woman
breathes fire
and is cold,
a woman sheds snow from ankles
and is warm;
white heat
melts into snow-flake
and violets
turn to pure amethysts,
water-clear:
no,
I did not falter,
I saw the whole miracle,
I knew that the old man made this tenable,
but how could he have foreseen
the impossible?
how could he have known
how each gesture of this dancer
would be hieratic?
words were scrawled on papyrus,
words were written most carefully,
each word was separate
yet each word led to another word,
and the whole made a rhythm
in the air,
till now unguessed at,
unknown.
IV
I was angry at the old man,
I wanted an answer,
a neat answer,
when I argued and said, “well, tell me,
you will soon be dead,
the secret lies with you,”
he said,
“you are a poet”;
I do not wish to be treated like a child, a weakling,
so I said,
(I was angry)
“you can not last forever,
the fire of wisdom dies with you,
I have travelled far to Miletus,
you can not stay long now with us,
I came for an answer”;
I was angry with the old man
with his talk of the man-strength,
Selected Poems of Hilda Doolittle Page 8
