Classic and Contemporary Poetry
KWANNON, by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL Poet's Biography First Line: I am the ancient one, the many-handed Last Line: I give them death. Subject(s): Mythology - Japanese | ||||||||
Kwannon, the Japanese goddess of mercy, is represented with many hands, typifying generosity and kindness. In one of these hands she is supposed to hold an ax, wherewith she severs the threads of human lives. I AM the ancient one, the many-handed, The merciful am I. Here where the black pine bends above the sea They bring their gifts to me Spoil of the foreshore where the corals lie, Fishes of ivory, and amber stranded, And carven beads Green as the fretted fringes of the weeds. Age after age, I watch the long sails pass. Age after age, I see them come once more Home, as the gray-winged pigeon to the grass, The white crane to the shore. Goddess am I of heaven and this small town Above the beaches brown. And here the children bring me cakes, and flowers, And all the strange sea-treasures that they find, For "She," they say, "the Merciful, is ours, And she," they say, "is kind." Camphor and wave-worn sandalwood for burning They bring to me alone, Shells that are veined like irises, and those Curved like the clear bright petals of a rose. Wherefore an hundredfold again returning I render them their own Full-freighted nets that flash among the foam, Laughter and love, and gentle eyes at home, Cool of the night, and the soft air that swells My silver temple bells. Winds of the spring, the little flowers that shine Where the young barley slopes to meet the pine, Gold of the charlock, guerdon of the rain, I give to them again. Yet though the fishing boats return full-laden Out of the broad blue east, Under the brown roofs pain is their handmaiden, And mourning is their feast. Yea, though my many hands are raised to bless, I am not strong to give them happiness. Sorrow comes swiftly as the swallow flying O, little lives, that are so quickly done! Peace is my raiment, mercy is my breath, I am the gentle one. When they are tired of sorrow and of sighing I give them death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CHILD'S SONG OF CHRISTMAS by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL A CHILD'S SONG by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL A MOTHER IN EGYPT by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL A SAXON EPITAPH by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL ARMOREL by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL BEGA by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL CANADA TO ENGLAND by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL DAWN by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL DEUS MISEREATUR by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL DREAM RIVER by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL |
|