The Little ReviewVol. IIOCTOBER, 1915No. 7Copyright, 1915, by Margaret C. Anderson
The Little Review
Vol. IIOCTOBER, 1915No. 7
Vol. IIOCTOBER, 1915No. 7
Vol. II
OCTOBER, 1915
No. 7
Copyright, 1915, by Margaret C. Anderson
Ben Hecht
Whohath not sung to thee, Night? So silent; so deep. But this night thou hast given thyself to me. Thy black wings brush silently against my soul.
Thou hast come to me, for I feel thee resting like a soft sorrow on my heart.
Thou who art alive with the shadowed wounds of ages hast heard me crying out to embrace thee, my soul beseeching thee to fold me against thy black bosom. And in answer thou hast let the mysticism of thy wonder-gloom sink into me until my soul hath opened to receive its kiss.
Tonight no one but I shall sing to thee. For thou art my mistress. Thy blackness and mine have wedded. And now thy dark kiss stingeth like a pain in me.
Into thy long arms I give myself. Night, Night, thou art so filled with longing. I hear the soft lament of thy deep heart murmuring to me.
Thy dim fingers trail across my face in a blind caress.
I feel thy yielding body that is spirit more than my spirit behind the somber veils thou wearest. I possess thee and our sorrows swell into an ecstacy.
Night, thou art the beautiful shadow thrown upon the earth by my sorrow.
I have carried thee a buried miracle in my soul of souls until this hour—when thou hast taken wings and flown out of me to confront me.
Night, my Night, let me enter now into thy darkness until all life beats in vain outside the obscurity of my soul. I would vanish from myself.
Night, my somber mistress, upon thy face my tears shine as stars and make thee more beautiful.
Night, thou art infinity revealed. I will stir thy ancient fires on thy cold lips until thou willst thunder to me with thy hidden voices out of thy vast silence.
Night, I open my heart to hear but I hear only my heart crying out. Speak.
Beautiful one, I sing to thee for bringing me the madness of silence. I sing to thee, for thou art mine; for thou art fierce and pregnant with still wounds.
Night. Behold! I know thee. I have seen the black flames of thy spirit that burn in the depths of thee. I have heard the murmuring music of thy tears.
Thou art glorious. Come. Come, thou and I shall make of our sorrow rejoicing. Come, place thy long, cool fingers in mine and lead me beyond.
Night! Night! Thy face is paling. Thou art stricken. Thou art treading silently away without me.
Night—thou hast taken from me the pain of thy kisses. There hath come into thy deep eyes a weariness. Thou art dying. Thou art dying from my arms. The red glow of death burneth in thy face and is transforming thee.
Night, where shall I find thee again? Where shall I seek thee?
The dreadful day that is thy white shadow hath come. And a part of me hath died.
I lay in a field of black flowers, and there were purple veins and green that floated like thin worms about me.
There were soft thick shapes swaying liquidly, moving unseen, and I lay under them gripped by soft thick mists.
Deep under them I lay hidden and they pulled me deeper into the field rolling softly around me.
A sorrow that had pursued me in my soul left me as I vanished, left me and floated above the flowers.
And I saw a white face drifting away like a pale bubble over the top of my black garden.
A white face like a dim sorrow, like a mute pain, drifting far away; the white face of a dead love searching in vain for me, in vain.
The day was a white monster, naked and bellowing; grinning after me with its buildings that were jagged rows of dirty teeth. There was no place to hide from my sorrow.
It lay in the sky that winked at me like a vast and blue and relentless eye. And it lay in the sun that burned like a golden grotesque. It lay in every laugh and in every beauty and in every little bird that lost itself over the water.
I felt the black flowers grow blacker and higher and I moved deeper into the blackness.
And then a sorrow that had pursued me in my soul left me as I vanished.
It floated away over the tops of the black flowers and I saw her white face moving from me like a pale bubble.
I saw the white face of a dead love moving beyond the soft shapes that swayed unseen; drifting away like a mute pain and searching in vain for me, in vain.
I ran, but there was no place to run; for the monster day ran after, glaring like a white torment, shouting and scampering after, and there was no place to hide.
Now the day was a white grave opened to me. Now it was a wide wave breaking over me.
And now it was a great bird, white-breasted and grey-pinioned, flying after me and after, bearing my sorrow in its blue beak; racing after me until its heart burst in the west and it sank, bleeding gorgeously across the sky.
And still I ran; but now the night came, running after, and there was no place to hide from my sorrow.
I fled in the streets before the darkness. But the stars found me and the trees loomed after me and the houselights followed me and the darkness wept around me—and they were my sorrow.
But there on the distant verge, where the night sinks exhausted into the blood-red arms of the white monster leaping over the world again, I fell; deep I fell.
Far into a hidden land where I lay hidden; hidden in a field of black flowers that were threaded with purple veins and green floating like thin worms about me.
My heart scatters tears over the dark day. The dull silvered poplar leaves float in the air like dead butterflies.
It is the autumn come again, speaking with its soft-tongued winds to the trees and to me.
It is cold. I have lost my warmth. I have lost thee. And the autumn has come again to tell me of it.
Listen to the sad-tongued winds. See the storm faltering in the street. It is cold.
It is the autumn come again, the autumn in whose wild sad treasures we once laughed; once when your hot hands reached out to me like a bright cry mocking the somber lisping of the twilight season.
Where are the songs I sang, the songs that leaped out of flame? Do they echo still in your listening ears? Do they fall like warm tears in your heart?
See the winds droop wearily into the trembling tree arms. See the street grows pale. A dying panoply drifts across the grey-girthed sky.
Ho, Life, I have still a song for you. Though you come whispering to me from the goldentombs of youth, from the scarlet graves of love, I will make of the lament you bring me—music. I will make of the dull tears you bring me—lyrics. I will clothe the grey ghosts of sorrow in rich trappings.
For it is only she who hath died. It is only she whom I loved with all my soul. Though my heart scatter tears over the dark day they are the tears of plenty. For her death hath enriched me.
For the autumn is come again speaking with its soft-tongued winds to the trees and to me things I have never heard before; things that her white breasts never told me; things that her burning lips never said to me; wild, sad things that the flame from whence my songs once leaped never held for me.
The dull silvered poplar leaves float in the air like dead butterflies, and they are beautiful.
Last night you came and sat by my bed in a little dark room and boasted to me like a child.
“I have come to destroy the sun,” you said; “I will take the great, yellow sun in my fingers and blow on it once and it will go out like a match.”
And I wondered, because the sun is so large and hot, how such a little one as you could blow it out like a match.
But you said: “I will blow once into the night and the stars will sputter like little flames in a great wind and scatter away in ashes. And the moon will spin around and around like a bright coin until it breaks into little black bits.”
And I wondered because the night was so far, how such a little breath as yours could reach into its soul.
But you said: “I will go out and touch the trees and the green leaves will shrivel and the brown trunks will vanish. I will breathe just once on the houses, the great big houses of iron and wood and stone, and they will sway like long pieces of black cloth in the wind and they will melt into a dark mist.”
And I wondered and wondered.
But you said: “In an instant I will walk up and down all the roads you have known; I will wander in all the fields you have wandered and pass through all the highways you have been. And each place that I move in will cease to be. Under my feet the earth will become a powder and vanish.”
Then you said, for I had ceased to wonder and was listening sadly: “I will go to your beloved whose hair is like the silk on the corn and whose eyes are like the deeps of the sea and I will smile on her and she will become as nothing. She will become as a speck of dust and she will never be again.”
And I wondered again how such a little one as you could make my beloved into a speck of dust when she was so beautiful.
But you said: “I will touch all the faces you have seen with the point of my finger and they will change into little dark clouds and I will blow them away with the stars and the moon and the yellow sun.”
And I thought of all the faces you boasted to destroy and wondered—because there were so many.
But you said: “Do you remember the little bird you saw hopping on the stones in the park one day: I will go find the little bird and lay my hand on her and she will never hop on the stones again.”
I remembered the little bird.
And you said: “Do you remember the wide, green water that rolled itself into a great colored ball and bounced up and down under the sun? Listen—I will go and blow on the water and it will disappear into a single drop. And I will bring this drop back to you to wear in your eyes when they close.”
And I wondered and wondered.
But you said: “Listen:—there is an old woman who smiles when she thinks of you. I will walk up behind her and touch her gently on the shoulder and she will vanish.”
And I murmured, “Do not touch the old woman.”
But you said: “Listen:—I will lay my hand over all the wild notes and sweet notes you have heard and they will be hushed. I will kill the songs that lie unborn in the earth and the sea and the cherry trees and in the white throats of birds and women and in the hearts of men.”
And I wondered how such a little one as you could hush so great a chorus.
But you came closer to me and said: “I have come to destroy the world for you, to pluck out every little blade of grass and every flower, to brush away the stars and kick over the hills and tear up all the fields.”
It was dark in the little room where we were and I sighed.
And you came closer to me and said: “I will gather up in a great, black bag everyone and everything and every God you have known and I will drop them into a great, black hole. And listen:—and then you will be alone.”
This street in the ghetto looks at nightLike a prison corridor,And the houses facing it are dark cells.And then you come to a block where the rickety, thin tenementsRise like gnawed, patient pencils tracing crazy star linesIn the sky.And then you come to the Synagogue of Judas the Servant,A little church of the JewsCrouching on its kneesAnd enveloped in the rags of cheap saloons and hovels.It thrusts its iron star into the nightLike a strange voice whispering in a dark place.And its stained walls impregnated with an ancient faithMurmur stoically to the stars of burning prayers and hopeless sobsAnd other things they have never heard.And if you stand before it for a timeStrange wild things will cry out of the shadows,And you will see the torn, bleeding image of a raceWhom Christ crucified.
This street in the ghetto looks at nightLike a prison corridor,And the houses facing it are dark cells.And then you come to a block where the rickety, thin tenementsRise like gnawed, patient pencils tracing crazy star linesIn the sky.And then you come to the Synagogue of Judas the Servant,A little church of the JewsCrouching on its kneesAnd enveloped in the rags of cheap saloons and hovels.It thrusts its iron star into the nightLike a strange voice whispering in a dark place.And its stained walls impregnated with an ancient faithMurmur stoically to the stars of burning prayers and hopeless sobsAnd other things they have never heard.And if you stand before it for a timeStrange wild things will cry out of the shadows,And you will see the torn, bleeding image of a raceWhom Christ crucified.
This street in the ghetto looks at nightLike a prison corridor,And the houses facing it are dark cells.
This street in the ghetto looks at night
Like a prison corridor,
And the houses facing it are dark cells.
And then you come to a block where the rickety, thin tenementsRise like gnawed, patient pencils tracing crazy star linesIn the sky.
And then you come to a block where the rickety, thin tenements
Rise like gnawed, patient pencils tracing crazy star lines
In the sky.
And then you come to the Synagogue of Judas the Servant,A little church of the JewsCrouching on its kneesAnd enveloped in the rags of cheap saloons and hovels.
And then you come to the Synagogue of Judas the Servant,
A little church of the Jews
Crouching on its knees
And enveloped in the rags of cheap saloons and hovels.
It thrusts its iron star into the nightLike a strange voice whispering in a dark place.And its stained walls impregnated with an ancient faithMurmur stoically to the stars of burning prayers and hopeless sobsAnd other things they have never heard.
It thrusts its iron star into the night
Like a strange voice whispering in a dark place.
And its stained walls impregnated with an ancient faith
Murmur stoically to the stars of burning prayers and hopeless sobs
And other things they have never heard.
And if you stand before it for a timeStrange wild things will cry out of the shadows,And you will see the torn, bleeding image of a raceWhom Christ crucified.
And if you stand before it for a time
Strange wild things will cry out of the shadows,
And you will see the torn, bleeding image of a race
Whom Christ crucified.
O what a day!The buildings are bursting into bloom—Huge, dazzling flowers sweeping against the heaven;Dizzy ferns waving like dreadful fans under the flying clouds.The shining windows flutter down like a shower of golden petals.O what a day!The buildings are crashing into bloom;Gleaming stalks of purple sprawling with a graceful frenzy into space.Smoke monsters dance lazily over their heads.The sky swims like a blue butterfly in and out among them.The streets race away.A golden wind sweeps with a roar through the world that has become a fierce gorgeous garden, and it nods breathlessly.Out of its blazing depths color leaps and the growling music of a torn God singing in pain.O what a day.Beauty bursting into madness.
O what a day!The buildings are bursting into bloom—Huge, dazzling flowers sweeping against the heaven;Dizzy ferns waving like dreadful fans under the flying clouds.The shining windows flutter down like a shower of golden petals.O what a day!The buildings are crashing into bloom;Gleaming stalks of purple sprawling with a graceful frenzy into space.Smoke monsters dance lazily over their heads.The sky swims like a blue butterfly in and out among them.The streets race away.A golden wind sweeps with a roar through the world that has become a fierce gorgeous garden, and it nods breathlessly.Out of its blazing depths color leaps and the growling music of a torn God singing in pain.O what a day.Beauty bursting into madness.
O what a day!The buildings are bursting into bloom—Huge, dazzling flowers sweeping against the heaven;Dizzy ferns waving like dreadful fans under the flying clouds.The shining windows flutter down like a shower of golden petals.
O what a day!
The buildings are bursting into bloom—
Huge, dazzling flowers sweeping against the heaven;
Dizzy ferns waving like dreadful fans under the flying clouds.
The shining windows flutter down like a shower of golden petals.
O what a day!The buildings are crashing into bloom;Gleaming stalks of purple sprawling with a graceful frenzy into space.Smoke monsters dance lazily over their heads.The sky swims like a blue butterfly in and out among them.The streets race away.A golden wind sweeps with a roar through the world that has become a fierce gorgeous garden, and it nods breathlessly.Out of its blazing depths color leaps and the growling music of a torn God singing in pain.
O what a day!
The buildings are crashing into bloom;
Gleaming stalks of purple sprawling with a graceful frenzy into space.
Smoke monsters dance lazily over their heads.
The sky swims like a blue butterfly in and out among them.
The streets race away.
A golden wind sweeps with a roar through the world that has become a fierce gorgeous garden, and it nods breathlessly.
Out of its blazing depths color leaps and the growling music of a torn God singing in pain.
O what a day.Beauty bursting into madness.
O what a day.
Beauty bursting into madness.
The lake comes gliding in and in,And gliding out it goes,Running up and back on the ribbon of the beachThat plays with its silver toes.And the lake reaches down to the hem of its gownWith its cool curved wind of a hand,And throws out its petticoat lacy and whiteWith a swish-swish over the sand.Its blue dress fluttering, tinted with the sun,Hangs from its girdle white-spaced,And a far ship riding with its nose in hidingStands black like a buckle at its waist.It begins to rain and the lake birds flyWith a whir and an angry screech,As the thin grey fingers reach down from the skyAnd tap, tap faintly on the beach.Digging little holes for an elfin folk,Pointing up the water like a grate;And the sky moves closer like a gust of smokeAnd behind it crouch and waitGreat half shapes and grey cloud apes,And a grey, old water crew,And the lake birds fly with their wings awry,Searching in their faces for the blue.Now the long rain chants in the grasses on the hill,And the lake runs in with a frightened sound,And sullen and wet the sand sinks low,Like a heavy brown cloud on the ground.On the hill top green the trees bend awayAnd brood as they lower and bend,And grey things walk beyond the greyWhere the sands and the waters end.The rain has stopped and the earth like a brideHas hung white petals in her hair,And the sky draws back till the white clouds rideLike soft white gardens in the air.And a butterfly flutters like an endless noteOver the lake’s thin brink,And the sand takes off its heavy brown coatAnd the cloud apes vanish and sink.The gay water dawns and the grasshopper pipesAnd the lake glides in anew,Dressed in greens and in awning stripes,And little birds leap toward the blue.
The lake comes gliding in and in,And gliding out it goes,Running up and back on the ribbon of the beachThat plays with its silver toes.And the lake reaches down to the hem of its gownWith its cool curved wind of a hand,And throws out its petticoat lacy and whiteWith a swish-swish over the sand.Its blue dress fluttering, tinted with the sun,Hangs from its girdle white-spaced,And a far ship riding with its nose in hidingStands black like a buckle at its waist.It begins to rain and the lake birds flyWith a whir and an angry screech,As the thin grey fingers reach down from the skyAnd tap, tap faintly on the beach.Digging little holes for an elfin folk,Pointing up the water like a grate;And the sky moves closer like a gust of smokeAnd behind it crouch and waitGreat half shapes and grey cloud apes,And a grey, old water crew,And the lake birds fly with their wings awry,Searching in their faces for the blue.Now the long rain chants in the grasses on the hill,And the lake runs in with a frightened sound,And sullen and wet the sand sinks low,Like a heavy brown cloud on the ground.On the hill top green the trees bend awayAnd brood as they lower and bend,And grey things walk beyond the greyWhere the sands and the waters end.The rain has stopped and the earth like a brideHas hung white petals in her hair,And the sky draws back till the white clouds rideLike soft white gardens in the air.And a butterfly flutters like an endless noteOver the lake’s thin brink,And the sand takes off its heavy brown coatAnd the cloud apes vanish and sink.The gay water dawns and the grasshopper pipesAnd the lake glides in anew,Dressed in greens and in awning stripes,And little birds leap toward the blue.
The lake comes gliding in and in,And gliding out it goes,Running up and back on the ribbon of the beachThat plays with its silver toes.
The lake comes gliding in and in,
And gliding out it goes,
Running up and back on the ribbon of the beach
That plays with its silver toes.
And the lake reaches down to the hem of its gownWith its cool curved wind of a hand,And throws out its petticoat lacy and whiteWith a swish-swish over the sand.
And the lake reaches down to the hem of its gown
With its cool curved wind of a hand,
And throws out its petticoat lacy and white
With a swish-swish over the sand.
Its blue dress fluttering, tinted with the sun,Hangs from its girdle white-spaced,And a far ship riding with its nose in hidingStands black like a buckle at its waist.
Its blue dress fluttering, tinted with the sun,
Hangs from its girdle white-spaced,
And a far ship riding with its nose in hiding
Stands black like a buckle at its waist.
It begins to rain and the lake birds flyWith a whir and an angry screech,As the thin grey fingers reach down from the skyAnd tap, tap faintly on the beach.
It begins to rain and the lake birds fly
With a whir and an angry screech,
As the thin grey fingers reach down from the sky
And tap, tap faintly on the beach.
Digging little holes for an elfin folk,Pointing up the water like a grate;And the sky moves closer like a gust of smokeAnd behind it crouch and wait
Digging little holes for an elfin folk,
Pointing up the water like a grate;
And the sky moves closer like a gust of smoke
And behind it crouch and wait
Great half shapes and grey cloud apes,And a grey, old water crew,And the lake birds fly with their wings awry,Searching in their faces for the blue.
Great half shapes and grey cloud apes,
And a grey, old water crew,
And the lake birds fly with their wings awry,
Searching in their faces for the blue.
Now the long rain chants in the grasses on the hill,And the lake runs in with a frightened sound,And sullen and wet the sand sinks low,Like a heavy brown cloud on the ground.
Now the long rain chants in the grasses on the hill,
And the lake runs in with a frightened sound,
And sullen and wet the sand sinks low,
Like a heavy brown cloud on the ground.
On the hill top green the trees bend awayAnd brood as they lower and bend,And grey things walk beyond the greyWhere the sands and the waters end.
On the hill top green the trees bend away
And brood as they lower and bend,
And grey things walk beyond the grey
Where the sands and the waters end.
The rain has stopped and the earth like a brideHas hung white petals in her hair,And the sky draws back till the white clouds rideLike soft white gardens in the air.
The rain has stopped and the earth like a bride
Has hung white petals in her hair,
And the sky draws back till the white clouds ride
Like soft white gardens in the air.
And a butterfly flutters like an endless noteOver the lake’s thin brink,And the sand takes off its heavy brown coatAnd the cloud apes vanish and sink.
And a butterfly flutters like an endless note
Over the lake’s thin brink,
And the sand takes off its heavy brown coat
And the cloud apes vanish and sink.
The gay water dawns and the grasshopper pipesAnd the lake glides in anew,Dressed in greens and in awning stripes,And little birds leap toward the blue.
The gay water dawns and the grasshopper pipes
And the lake glides in anew,
Dressed in greens and in awning stripes,
And little birds leap toward the blue.