Classic and Contemporary Poetry
METROPOLITAN, by EDITH SITWELL Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The world grows furry, grunts with sleep Last Line: Strange threads to hold time fast. Subject(s): Memory; Railroads; Travel; Railways; Trains; Journeys; Trips | ||||||||
1.STOPPING PLACE THE world grows furry, grunts with sleep... But I must on the surface keep. The jolting of the train to me Seems some primeval vertebrae Attached by life-nerves to my brain Grown primitive, till, once again, I see all shapes as crude and new And ordered,with some end in view, No longer with the horny eyes Of other people's memories. Through highly varnished yellow heat, As through a lens that does not fit, The faces jolt in cubes, and I Perceive their odd solidity Anchored against the puff of breeze, As shallow as the crude blue seas; And there are woollen buns to eat Bright-varnished buns to touch and see And, black as an Inferno, tea. Then (Reckett's blue) a puff of wind... Heredity regains my mind And I am sitting in the train While thought becomes like flesh,the brain A horny substance altering sight; How strange, intangible is light Whence all is born, and yet by touch We live,the rest is not worth much... Once more the world grows furred with sleep, But I must on the surface keep While mammoths from the heat are born Great clumsy trains with tusk and horn Whereon the world's too sudden tossed Through frondage of our mind, and lost. 2.MISS NETTYBUN AND THE SATYR'S CHILD As underneath the trees I pass Through emerald shade on hot soft grass, Petunia faces, glowing-hued With heat, cast shadows hard and crude Green velvety as leaves, and small Fine hairs like grass pierce through them all. But these are all asleepasleep, As through the schoolroom door I creep In search of you, for you evade All the advances I have made. Come, Horace, you must take my hand: This sulking state I will not stand! But you shall feed on strawberry jam At tea-time, if you cease to slam The doors that open from our sense Through which I slipped to drag you hence! 3.PORTRAIT OF A BARMAID METALLIC waves of people jar Through crackling green toward the bar Where on the tables, chattering-white The sharp drinks, quarrel with the light. Those coloured muslin blinds the smiles Shroud wooden faces in their wiles Sometimes they splash like water (you Yourself reflected in their hue). The conversation, loud and bright, Seems spinal bars of shunting light In firework-spirting greenery. O complicate machinery For building Babel, iron crane Beneath your hair, that blue-ribbed mane In noise and murder like the sea Without its mutability ! Outside the bar, where jangling heat Seems out of tune and off the beat, A concertina's glycerine Exudes and mirrors in the green Your soul, pure glucose edged with hints Of tentative and half-soiled tints. 4.THE SPIDER THE fat light clings upon my skin, Like grease that slowly forms a thin And foul white film; so close it lies, It feeds upon my lips and eyes. The black fly hits the window-pane That shuts its dirty body in; So once, his spirit fought to quit The body that imprisoned it. He always seemed so fond of me, Until one day he chanced to see My head, a little on one side, Loll softly as if I had died. Since then, he rarely looked my way, Though he could never know what lay Within my brain; though iron his will, I thought, he's young and teachable. And often, as I took my drink, I chuckled in my heart to think Whose dark blood ran within his veins: You see, it spared me half my pains. The time was very long until I had the chance to work my will; Once seen, the way was clear as light, A father's patience infinite. He always was so sensitive; But soon I taught him how to live With each day, just a patch of white, A blinded patch of black, each night. Each day he watched my gaiety: It's very difficult to die When one is young ... I pitied him, The glass I filled up to the brim. His shaking fingers scarce could hold; His limbs were trembling as with cold... I waited till from night and day All meaning I had wiped away, And then I gave it him again; The wine made heaven in his brain: Then spider-like, the kindly wine Thrust tentacles through every vein, And knotted him so very fast I knew I had him safe at last. And sometimes in the dawn, I'd creep To watch him as he lay asleep, And each time, see my son's face grown In some blurred line, more like my own. A crumpled rag, he lies all night Until the first white smear of light; And sleep is but an empty hole... No place for him to hide his soul, No outlet there to set him free: He never can escape from me. Yet still I never know what thought, All fly-like, in his mind lies caught: His face seems some half-spoken word Forgot again as soon as heard Beneath the livid skin of light; Oh, just an empty space of white, Now all the meaning's gone. I'll sit A little while, and stare at it. 5.THE DRUNKARD THIS black tower drinks the blinding light. Strange windows livid white, Tremble beneath the curse of God. Yet living weeds still nod To the huge sun, a devil's eye That tracks the souls that die. The clock beats like the heart of Doom Within the narrow room; And whispering with some ghastly air The curtains float and stir. But still she never speaks a word; I think she hardly heard When I with reeling footsteps came And softly spoke her name. But yet she does not sleep. Her eyes Still watch in wide surprise The thirsty knife that pitied her; But those lids never stir, Though creeping Fear still gnaws like pain The hollow of her brain. She must have some sly plan, the cheat, To lie so still. The beat That once throbbed like a muffled drum With fear to hear me come, Now never sounds when I creep nigh. Oh! she was always sly. Yet if to spite her, I dared steal Behind her bed, and feel With fumbling fingers for her heart... Ere I could touch the smart, Once more wild shriek on shriek would tear The dumb and shuddering air... And still she never speaks to me. She only smiles to see How in dark corners secret-sly New-born Eternity, All spider-like, doth spin and cast Strange threads to hold Time fast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RICHARD, WHAT'S THAT NOISE? by RICHARD HOWARD LOOKING FOR THE GULF MOTEL by RICHARD BLANCO RIVERS INTO SEAS by LYNDA HULL DESTINATIONS by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE ONE WHO WAS DIFFERENT by RANDALL JARRELL THE CONFESSION OF ST. JIM-RALPH by DENIS JOHNSON SESTINA: TRAVEL NOTES by WELDON KEES TO H. B. (WITH A BOOK OF VERSE) by MAURICE BARING AN OLD WOMAN: 2. HARVEST by EDITH SITWELL |
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