Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HERE IS MUSIC: 5, by AUSTIN PHILIPS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HERE IS MUSIC: 5, by                    
First Line: If, decades back: in days
Last Line: Peace—yes, and passion likewise: food for body, soul and mind.
Subject(s): Aging; Youth


IF, decades back: in days
When, saddened, side-tracked, shy,
Inhibited, ill-at-ease,
Seeking subconsciously
For flight, escape, surcease,
Outlook, and wider ways
Of life, friends, spiritual peers. ...
If, in those tragic years,
Mile-stoned with pent-up tears,
I, restless, wretched, lonely and adrift,
By some incredible, ironic gift
Of Fate—too glorious, almost, to seem true—
Had see You, met You, spoken with You, too. ...
If such a longed-for chance
Had, all-unlooked-for, come,
I, 'neath your measuring glance,
Had stood confused, nay, dumb ...
Then fled: Your charm, Your culture making me
But more aware of my inferiority.

To-day—grown firm through tears,
Toil, effort, self-set tasks,
Sure of myself: sure, too,
Of all your voice unmasks
In inner, intimate You,
And what Your beauty bears—
Brought close by casual Fate,
I sit and contemplate
And wonder ... while a spate
Of thought o'erwhelms me as we smile and spar;
A sign, a signal beacons from afar,
What time, deep down in my remotest breast,
My Daimon whispers, "You have met the best,"
Says, "This is She whose ways,
Whose heart, brain, sympathy,
Might have made glad your days,
Inspired you, bid you be
Your richest self, have given you Faith and Force
To find, recover, travel true, appointed course."

Arcades ambo—each
An intellectual, strayed
From pre-appointed path!
You found your genius stayed,
In girlish hours and rath,
By vanities which teach
Loose thinking, restlessness,
False standards, set vile stress
On social vapidness. ...
I, the poor Malvern scholar, turned adrift
By parents heedless of his God-given gift. ...
If, in those hours when we were fighting free,
We had lived, worked, striven in proximity. ...
If, daily, You had shown
Your work to me: I, brought
Songs sung for You alone,
What wonders we had wrought. ...
Since that each uttered, first, for one to see,
Full soon had touched all hearts ... through sheer intensity.

If Youth but knew! If Age
But could! Yet Youth knows not,
And Age must needs accept,
Support, endure its lot,
Un-cavilled at, unwept,
In silent vassalage. ...
Still—in this book-lined room,
Where leaping flames consume
The glowing coals, illume
Your mobile face, inform it with that light
Which has become the Moon of all my Night—
I seem to prophesy no Future, but to forecast
Some exquisite, all, alas! impossible Past,
When, after long hours spent
'Neath alien roofs, apart,
(Our tasks fulfilled: content,
Priestess and Priest of Art),
We met, of afternoons, to love, to find
Peace—yes, and Passion likewise: food for body, soul and mind.





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