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


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HERE IS MUSIC: RESPICIT JUDEX, by                    
First Line: Hair, strands of copper blent with skeins of gold
Last Line: Supreme in self-abandon, artist effortless.
Subject(s): Love - Marital; Passion; Wedded Love; Marriage - Love


HAIR, strands of copper blent with skeins of gold.
Eyes, like forget-me-nots which secret tears
Have touched to feeling that such flow'rs enfold
But seldom. Limbs whose lissomness appears,
Nymph-like, beneath the summer frock she wears.
Body, whose slender elegance suggests
Some boyish being, but for rounded breasts.
Hands whose sweet shapeliness has few compeers.
Feet, light as air that flings the fields its kiss.
Heart of high courage, steadfast to abide.
Ultimate syllable in daintiness.
Ardent of soul, swift in self-sacrifice.
Proud as the proudest ... yet, for all her pride,
Supreme in self-abandon, artist effortless.

This is the cottage that was hers,
Hers was this garden, where I came,
With heart on fire and soul a-flame,
To see those shapely kingfishers
Hover and settle, flash to claim
Their prey ... like live Excaliburs.
This is the ancient garden-close
Wherein I stood to watch the Teme—
Swiftest of rivers, yet who flows
With sweet susurrus—strongly speed
By dale and meadow, moor and meed,
Towards marriage-bed 'mid Severn's stream. ...
This is the haven which my wealthy wife,
Sick, for a space, of show and social strife,
Came, in caprice, to purchase, drugged with dream
Of pastoral pleasures, flirting with the simpler life.

The note of blackbird, song of thrush
Invest my ear; upon my sight
Fall unforgotten pageants, bright
Landscapes; while grasses, gracious, lush,
Gleam glad beneath the sun's strong light.
Around me blue-bells blossom; blush
Roses; burn poppies; lupin lifts
Its lances; chestnut buds appear,
Pink-white and gay; in snowy drifts
The fecund fruit-trees froth and foam
Like waves the wind has whipped to spume,
While, almost at my feet, I hear
Afresh, the ancient and familiar roar
Of pounding waters as they press and pour
In frenzied, fearful haste 'cross Branscombe weir,
And, hearing, have my heart penned in past passion's pow'r.

Before me those unfilled deck-chairs
(My wife, for social pleasures fain,
Has fled away, with spirits twain,
In fevered urge for urban airs)
Bring back lost, ancient hours again,
And all the Buried Past appears.
I look on you, your husband, (him,
The Painter who, so hatefully,
Held you as handmaid, at gross whim,
Enjoyed your body and, foul knave,
Made you unceasing household slave)
And her, his pupil, come to be
His mistress; sense your rare, unusual grace
Shine in sweet contrast to that coarse, gross face;
Feel heart, know soul dissolve in sympathy. ...
Find Love, from Pity born, leap into life apace.

Leap into life, and pass and press
From Pity to those other things,
Constituents of Love, the springs
Of Love's sum-total ... Tenderness:
Their number, three: Protectiveness;
Next, Admiration; last, the stings
Of Passion which, so potent, fierce
And ruthless, rush to take control,
Surge, irresistible, to pierce
The tenuous armour which surrounds
Man's heart, that, tottering, weak from wounds,
Betrays man's citadel, his soul. ...
So was it I, as though by lightning's stroke,
Stricken a space with sudden blindness, woke
Slave of the God, ached, ardent, to enrol,
Huntsman and slave, henceforth, 'neath Passion's fearful yoke.

One glance ... and all was o'er. I read
In thankful eyes swift gratitude
For sympathy, then felt my blood
Burn, and my pulses leap, fierce need
To take you in my arms preclude
Calm thought, knew am'rous hope succeed
Detached commiseration, came
To sense each fibre, filled with fire,
Feed freshening furnace in my frame. ...
One glance ...! Of such is Love's domain
Peopled, Love's empery made plain!
Thenceforth but one unvoiced desire
Informed my soul and senses, drove me on
Towards Love's complete, last culmination,
Urged me consume, made vast funereal pyre
Of lingering loyalties before Queen Venus' throne.

But not full consciously at first,
Since Passion, draped in Pity's dress,
Went masque-ing as Protectiveness,
Wore Admiration's cloak, and erst
Walked self-deceiving, questionless
Of inner motive. Thus, athirst,
Hungered and hot with sex-urge, came
Desire decked out as Gratitude
And falsely called by Friendship's name,
To unite us twain (already drawn
To give, each unto each, in pawn
Our intellectual selves), imbued
Us both with burning, overwhelming need
For utter union, so to slake and feed
Frenzy for marriage of both spirit and blood. ...
To own Love's Lord's sweet sway in Love's last ultimate deed.

From that hour onward Teme's fair vale,
Her Hills, her Woods, her hurrying Stream
Saw us together, watched us dream
Out long, delicious days, and scale
Great un-imagined heights, supreme
Apex of ecstasies, regale
Our souls with manna, run rich range,
Glad gamut of ideas; thus find,
In such adorable exchange,
Excitement, stimulus and Peace,
One-ness of spirit, rare release
Of inhibition; blend and bind
Ourselves into eternal union, brought
By mirth to marriage of our midmost thought:
Fated, each one, felicitous, to find
The ardent being for the other fashioned, wrought.

Sudden it seemed that all was said,
One mid-May night of sultry heat,
Silent we sat. Before our feet,
Beneath empurpled slopes up-spread,
The singing river, faring fleet,
A hidden, headlong, vaporous thread,
Rippled; while am'rous song-birds made
Their music to a mist-hung moon,
And nightingales, in lane and glade,
Trilled gorgeous gamuts, sounded scales
Gracious and glad as Attic vales
E'er heard of old in Night's high noon. ...
Our hour was on us. All o'erwhelmed, we burned
For final union, Passion-driven, turned
Caught at each other, clung and kissed; full soon
Passed to complete fulfilment, mated, mixed and yearned.

Hair, strands of copper blent with skeins of gold.
Eyes, like forget-me-nots which secret tears
Have touched to feeling that such flow'rs enfold
But seldom. Limbs whose lissomness appears,
Nymph-like, beneath the summer-frock she wears.
Body, whose slender elegance suggests
Some boyish being, but for rounded breasts.
Hands, whose sweet shapeliness has few compeers,
Feet, light as air that flings the fields its kiss.
Heart of high courage, steadfast to abide.
Ultimate syllable in daintiness.
Ardent of soul. Swift in self-sacrifice.
Proud as the proudest ... yet, for all her pride,
Supreme in self-abandon, artist effortless.

Through hours of dalliance and delight—
Divine, incomparable days,
Exquisite wanderings in Love's ways,
Outstripping hope, surpassing height
Of happiest dream—to further phase
We drew. First, strange, indefinite
Fear came to finger at our hearts,
As though steps stumbled 'cross our grave!
Stark shadows followed. Doubt's dread darts
Assailed our souls; came crescent sense
Of some Disaster, stark, immense,
Destined to make us serf and slave
Of ceaseless sorrow. In our anguish, we
Took constant counsel, came, at last, to see
One single, sole solution; held it strong to save,
And royal road which led to true security.

Freedom, Divorce, Re-marriage. I
Felt it beyond all human pow'r
To hold such love as mere amour,
Mote of a moment, made to be
Fugitive, destined to endure
But trivial time, then brutally
Broken on Fate's rough wheel and, flung
On Fortune's sorry ash-pit, lost
Life's refuse, lie Life's shards among.
I could not silent sit, and see
Him use you in cold cruelty
As handmaid, hear him, braggart, boast
You such ... support, with every nerve a-jar,
That un-declared, afflicting, inner war
Which those unceasing wage, at cruel cost,
Who captive walk, and chained, in toils triangular.

At first your happy heart leapt high
In hungry hope of hours to be,
You spoke, you dreamed unendingly
Of days to come, when you and I
Should dwell—united and yet free—
Care-less beneath some island sky,
Cerulean and Italianate;
Possess each other, yet possess
(Master and Mistress of our fate),
Our individual souls; in fine,
Be wholly human, half divine,
Fond fugitives from storm and stress
Of cruel codes, find glorious release
In self-set exile, paint or play at ease,
Have, as sure setting for true happiness,
A little house within whose walls there homed large peace.

We talked. We planned. We made our pact.
The hour approached. The stage seemed set.
Nothing, I felt, could bring defeat
To brave, cold, calm courageous act,
Or, cruel, come to foil and cheat
Us twain from fashioning dream to fact. ...
When, suddenly, your mood seemed changed,
You owned odd qualms, uncovered doubt,
Shifted and hesitated, ranged
This way and that, announced that he
Was treating you less cruelly,
And then, next moment, turned about,
And after that turned, tearful, back again,
Cried that you must not come, although full fain
To fly with me, to put to final rout
My anguish ... place a period to all ache and pain.

That night we wandered through the wood
Beside your garden, walked the glade
Within whose sheltered, sombre shade,
So oft, in seeming certitude
Of large success, in high Crusade,
My hungry lips had kissed and wooed:
Close at our side pink campion.
Beyond, a bank of violets,
Dim in the darkness showed and shone;
Muslin-and-chintz-like ladysmock,
And leopard's bane in yellow frock,
Made rich-pight carpet; canzonets
And bird-notes came ... but broke on these the foul
And fretful screech of Night's ill-omened owl,
Fate's harbinger and herald, hurling threats,
Foretelling grief in tones that grided, froze the soul.

We leaned on lichen'd gate. You tore
Some green-grey growth from topmost bar,
Twisted and turned it (distant far
The scene, yet vivid evermore
It stays, lives, stands familiar!)
With expert fingers, artist-lore,
Into a flower's semblance, took
My coat's lapel, and gently drew
Me downwards, tip-toe'd, then, to hook
The thing within my button-hole,
Gave me your lips in loving dole,
Stepped back, considered me anew,
Strove (but in vain you strove!) to exorcise
The brimming, swimming tears from your sweet eyes,
Came forward; fought, heroic, to subdue
All sorrow, stood wrought-up to stern self-sacrifice.

"Listen, my dearest one," you said,
"My love belongs to you, my mind,
Breath, soul and body mix and bind
Themselves with yours in dream and deed,
Reach rest, touch exaltation, find
Fulfilment of their last, least need.
But you have courage. Hid within
His fine-formed frame a weakling's heart
Lies hid, to cowardice akin.
Yours is a certain strength, but he,
Poor wretch, has ceaseless need of me.
Woman I am. Wherefore my part
Pertains to Pity. All my being grieves
And aches at losing you; nay, while it lives,
Must walk the sun's course widdershins, athwart. ...
And yet my way lies plain. One has but what one gives."

"He is my husband. Habit is
Full ten times nature. Twice five years
Have fled since first I walked in tears,
Discovered him antithesis
Of all my girlish hopes, felt Fear's
Cold fingers pierce and paralyse
My being ... learned him lazy, lusk,
Divined myself henceforth to be
The lifelong handmaid of a husk,
Who, by undreamed good fortune came
A space, to gather some small fame,
When, keyed by passion felt for me,
He spewed up sombre mood and came to show
His inner-self on canvas, paint the Teme-side glow
With such address that Chantrey's Chief Trustee
Compelled prompt purchase, vowed him great ... in embryo.

"He is my husband. Since I set
My hand to such a sorry plough,
Nothing is left, my dear one, now
But to assume wan winding-sheet
Of Love: in living-death to bow
My neck 'fore Fate's sharp falchion, let
You go—nay, urge you go—make end
For all time of our dreams, endure
The unendurable, and send
You forth, in cruel grief, to gain
Fresh strengths and later, love again
He needs me. Hence my forfeiture
Of Life itself, acceptance of long load,
Harsh aftermath of happy harvest, sow'd
And reaped, whose mad, sweet mem'ries must stand sure
What time, with aching feet, I walk my long, grey road."

I thought your words expressed mere phase
Of some kaleidoscopic mood,
Which, mutable and fleeting, would
Fast be forgotten ... that our ways
To-morrow must be glad and good,
Gracious as had been yesterday's.
But soon I saw those words were true,
Since—that coarse pupil-mistress gone—
Your husband, changing, turned to you,
As one adrift on Ocean's dark
Abyss draws help from neighbouring barque:
He who had left you walk alone
A hundred happy days, for hateful 'rights'
Hungered a hideous space, greedy for Lust's delights.
Such was sad certainty. I saw you shun
My gaze ... and guessed you gave that drone, a-new, your nights.

Such phase soon fled. Day after day,
Idle, hour-wasting, woe-begone,
He lay supine 'neath summer sun,
Or else, ungrateful, would inveigh
Against ill-fortune and intone
His fancied ills in fatuous way,
Or watched you—dream of daintiness—
Work, where the cottage-kitchen door
Wide-open stood; while in sharp stress
And hardly-hidden wrath, I stood
To see sweet hands in servitude,
Nimble and expert, skilful, sure,
Devise him dishes delicately drest,
Behold you, Beauty, barmaid to the Beast,
Look on, lamenting, loathe that bestial boor,
Long to be gone, yet linger, captive self-confessed.

Once more you turned to me, and clung
And kissed. Our bodies mixed and met
In utter union. Love's dear debt
Was paid. In joy to right the wrong
Done unto Love at Duty's let,
Again there surged through me swift, strong
Passionate ache to force you free
Despite the old allegiance, bear
You, slave, from black captivity,
Shatter your shackles, make you mate
'Neath island skies Italianate. ...
But, when I spoke my thought, came clear
And firm your answer. "Although Love enwreath
And bind us twain with passion strong as Death,
Yet is his need the greater. Learn, my dear,
Duty is Life itself ... and lasts while Life holds breath.

Once more I saw your husband turn,
Possessed by hideous, hateful gust
Of passing passion, grossly thrust
Odious attentions on you, yearn
Again to make you holocaust,
Burnt sacrifice to bestial lust. ...
This time within me something broke,
And snapped. I could not stay, endure,
Meekly imprison'd in such yoke,
Stand by and see him satiate
Desire upon my soul's one mate,
Hold her scarce higher than ordure. ...
I could not let her, bruised and broken reed,
Seek in me still more solace in black need.
I walked in wrath. I sought escape. I tore
My heart in twain, found force a fleeting space ... and fled.

A month I strode on foreign soil,
Wandered a-foot in wretchedness,
Fierce fugitive from loneliness
And shame of spirit, caught in coil
Of cruel Fortune's cold caress,
Lived lamentable, Love's exile,
Came Home un-healed, to find relief
In ceaseless labour, stout cuirass,
Sure anodyne 'gainst human grief,
Stood firm, shunned all propinquity,
So steeled my heart, fought slowly free,
Built up great gulfs of Time and Place,
Learned at long last how fixed ambition brings
To men, man's solace from Defeat's sharp stings,
Found in the Law's pursuits stout carapace,
Turned from unworldly love to unworthier worldly things.

The métier makes the man. I came
Through drab devotion to my task,
To find my corselet, shield and casque
In frigid, legal outlook, frame
My life on nice conventions, mask
Each impulse, until, to my shame,
My outward semblance seemed to be
Not merely métier's disguise
But inner and essential me.
I found (I thought) real happiness
In each step upward towards Success,
When named King's Counsel held it wise
To ensure my future fortunes, knew swift need
For wealthy wife, in fatuous folly wed
Her whose metallic soul and heartless eyes
Fill me with hate ... with hunger, too, for days long dead.

Hair, strands of copper, blent with skeins of gold.
Eyes like forget-me-nots which secret tears
Have touched to feeling that such flow'rs enfold
But seldom. Limbs whose lissomness appears,
Nymph-like, beneath the summer frock she wears.
Body whose slender elegance suggests
Some boyish being, but for rounded breasts.
Hands, whose sweet shapeliness has few compeers.
Feet, light as air that flings the fields its kiss.
Heart of high courage, steadfast to abide.
Ultimate syllable in daintiness.
Ardent of soul, swift in self-sacrifice.
Pround as the proudest ... yet, for all her pride,
Supreme in self-abandon, artist effortless.

This is the cottage that was hers,
Hers was this garden, where I came,
With heart on fire and soul a-flame,
To see those shapely kingfishers
Hover and settle, flash to claim
Their prey ... like live Excaliburs.
This is the ancient garden-close
Wherein I stood to watch the Teme,
Swiftest of rivers—yet who flows
With sweet susurrus—strongly speed
By dale and meadow, moor and mead,
Towards marriage-bed mid Severn's stream,
This is the haven which my wealthy wife,
Sick, for a space, of show and social strife,
Came, in caprice, to purchase, drugged with dream
Of pastoral pleasures, flirting with the simpler life.

I turn, and, turning, stand and see
White-plastered wall and black-tarred beam,
Creeper-hung cottage, spot supreme
In Life's long voyage, where, lessee
Of Love, in dear, delicious dream,
Day through, I lingered am'rously:
There is the lattice-window, whence
You looked on me with laughing eyes,
Listened, gave happy audience
To my impassioned pleadings, knew
My heart's outpourings thrill you through,
Next dallied, called for compromise,
Half yielded, vowed my passion fruitless, vain,
Coquetted with concession, changed again,
Lost all reluctance, turned to covetise,
Met, matched my mood, flung passion glad, free, fullest rein.

I turn, a second time, to see,
Beyond the river, Berrow Hill,
The high-backed lane, the water-mill,
The barn with dormer windows three.
The sandstone farmhouse, red and still,
Shines forth in sun-kissed brilliancy,
The gate above stands plain and clear,
With sentry hawthorns on each hand.
A lake of buttercups lies near,
While cattle, clustered in close groups,
Lurk motionless on shimmering slopes,
And, as of old, the oak-trees stand
Like necklace to the summit, where we lay—
We two—on such an afternoon in May ...
Saw Severn's vale outspread; her shining band
Slide, sluggish, seaward; drift on drowsy, dreaming way.

Where are you now? I know him dead,
Slain on the highway while he rode
With pupil-mistress, who bestrode
His cycle pillion-wise, and bled
Beside him, lying lifeless clod. ...
I heard it whispered you were fled,
Southwards and sister-wards, to some
African city, had the force
To make new life there, find fresh home.
Fain would I follow, fling away
All that inhibits me to-day,
Seek you and wed you, have recourse
To that which is the one sole thing I ask,
Which stays, all-time, un-compassed, hopeless task,
Since High Court Judges grant, not gain, divorce. ...
And those who sought must wear, not set aside, their mask.

Judge of the High Court. Like some Cain,
Who crushed and killed his counterpart,
I stand proved traitor to that Art
Which was my one true métier. Plain
My crime. My punishment and smart
Unceasing, crescent. Trapped, self-ta'en,
Self-tortured, must I walk who slew
My better, higher self, became
Common careerist, one who drew
His hand away from ploughshare's haft,
Won place by legal lies and craft,
Slave of "As If", vile valet, vain
Impostor, spurious, ignoble, sleek,
Cringer and cur and bully, pseudo-meek
And pseudo-strong, Convention's chamberlain,
Spiritual coward, sum of all things worthless, weak.

'Weak'! 'Twas the word I found for you
In furious anger, all but hate,
Because you strove to sublimate
Your sexual self and, staunch and true,
Held to harsh plough-haft, faced your fate,
Loved, but relinquished Love and drew
New force from such relinquishment.
'Weak'! Not the least part of my shame
Is that, in wild and turbulent
Wrath, I cursed you who claimed no strength,
But, shaken reed, grew strong at length,
Who, though consumed by fire and flame
Of fiercest passion, steadfast stayed to see
Your task fulfilled and finished royally,
Foresaw your long grey road, walked this, and came
Into your spiritual kingdom. ... Duty's devotee. ...

The note of blackbird, song of thrush
Invest my ear; upon my sight
Fall unforgotten pageants, bright
Landscapes; while grasses, gracious, lush,
Gleam glad beneath the sun's strong light;
Around me blue-bells blossom; blush
Roses; burn poppies; lupin lifts
Its lances; chestnut-buds appear
Pink-white and gay; in snowy drifts
The fecund fruit-trees froth and foam
Like waves the wind has whipped to spume;
While, almost at my feet, I hear
Afresh the ancient and familiar roar
Of pounding waters as they press and pour
In frenzied, fearful force 'cross Branscombe weir,
And, hearing, have my heart penn'd in past passion's pow'r.

Hair, strands of copper blent with skeins of gold,
Eyes, like forget-me-nots which secret tears
Have touched to feeling that such flow'rs enfold
But seldom. Limbs whose lissomness appears
Nymph-like, beneath the Summer frock she wears.
Body, whose slender elegance suggests

Some boyish being, but for rounded breasts.
Hands whose sweet shapeliness has few compeers.
Feet light as air that flings the fields its kiss.
Heart of high courage, steadfast to abide.
Ultimate syllable in daintiness.
Ardent of soul. Swift in self-sacrifice.
Proud as the proudest ... yet, for all her pride,
Supreme in self-abandon, artist effortless.





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