John Gould Fletcher

IOver the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds:Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.Whirlpools of purple and gold,Winds from the mountains of cinnabar,Lacquered mandarin moments, palanquins swaying and balancingAmid the vermilion pavilions, against the jade balustrades;Glint of the glittering wings of dragon-flies in the light;Silver filaments, golden flakes settling downwards;Rippling, quivering flutters; repulse and surrender,The sun broidered upon the rain,The rain rustling with the sun.Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds:Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.IIO seeded grass, you army of little menCrawling up the low slopes with quivering quick blades of steel:You who storm millions of graves, tiny green tentacles of earth,Interlace your tangled webs tightly over my heartAnd do not let me go:For I would lie here for ever and watch with one eyeThe pilgrimaging ants in your dull savage jungles,While with the other I see the long lines of the slopeBreak in mid air, a wave surprisingly arrested;And above it, wavering, bodiless, colorless, unreal,The long thin lazy fingers of the heat.IIINot noisily, but solemnly and pale,In a meditative ecstasy, you entered life,As for some strange rite, to which you alone held the clue.Child, life did not give rude strength to you;From the beginning you would seem to have thrown away,As something cold and cumbersome, that armor men use against death.You would perchance look on death face to face and from him wrest the secretWhether his face wears oftenest a smile or no?Strange, old and silent being, there is somethingInfinitely vast in your intense tininess:I think you could point out with a smile some curious starFar off in the heavens which no man has seen before.IVThe morning is clean and blue, and the wind blows up the clouds:Now my thoughts, gathered from afar,Once again in their patched armor, with rusty plumes and blunted swords,Move out to war.Smoking our morning pipes we shall ride two and twoThrough the woods.For our old cause keeps us together,And our hatred is so precious not death or defeat can break it.God willing, we shall this day meet that old enemyWho has given us so many a good beating.Thank God, we have a cause worth fighting for,And a cause worth losing, and a good song to sing!

Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds:Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.

Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds:

Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.

Whirlpools of purple and gold,Winds from the mountains of cinnabar,Lacquered mandarin moments, palanquins swaying and balancingAmid the vermilion pavilions, against the jade balustrades;Glint of the glittering wings of dragon-flies in the light;Silver filaments, golden flakes settling downwards;Rippling, quivering flutters; repulse and surrender,The sun broidered upon the rain,The rain rustling with the sun.Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds:Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.

Whirlpools of purple and gold,

Winds from the mountains of cinnabar,

Lacquered mandarin moments, palanquins swaying and balancing

Amid the vermilion pavilions, against the jade balustrades;

Glint of the glittering wings of dragon-flies in the light;

Silver filaments, golden flakes settling downwards;

Rippling, quivering flutters; repulse and surrender,

The sun broidered upon the rain,

The rain rustling with the sun.

Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds:

Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.

O seeded grass, you army of little menCrawling up the low slopes with quivering quick blades of steel:You who storm millions of graves, tiny green tentacles of earth,Interlace your tangled webs tightly over my heartAnd do not let me go:For I would lie here for ever and watch with one eyeThe pilgrimaging ants in your dull savage jungles,While with the other I see the long lines of the slopeBreak in mid air, a wave surprisingly arrested;And above it, wavering, bodiless, colorless, unreal,The long thin lazy fingers of the heat.

O seeded grass, you army of little men

Crawling up the low slopes with quivering quick blades of steel:

You who storm millions of graves, tiny green tentacles of earth,

Interlace your tangled webs tightly over my heart

And do not let me go:

For I would lie here for ever and watch with one eye

The pilgrimaging ants in your dull savage jungles,

While with the other I see the long lines of the slope

Break in mid air, a wave surprisingly arrested;

And above it, wavering, bodiless, colorless, unreal,

The long thin lazy fingers of the heat.

III

Not noisily, but solemnly and pale,In a meditative ecstasy, you entered life,As for some strange rite, to which you alone held the clue.Child, life did not give rude strength to you;From the beginning you would seem to have thrown away,As something cold and cumbersome, that armor men use against death.You would perchance look on death face to face and from him wrest the secretWhether his face wears oftenest a smile or no?Strange, old and silent being, there is somethingInfinitely vast in your intense tininess:I think you could point out with a smile some curious starFar off in the heavens which no man has seen before.

Not noisily, but solemnly and pale,

In a meditative ecstasy, you entered life,

As for some strange rite, to which you alone held the clue.

Child, life did not give rude strength to you;

From the beginning you would seem to have thrown away,

As something cold and cumbersome, that armor men use against death.

You would perchance look on death face to face and from him wrest the secret

Whether his face wears oftenest a smile or no?

Strange, old and silent being, there is something

Infinitely vast in your intense tininess:

I think you could point out with a smile some curious star

Far off in the heavens which no man has seen before.

The morning is clean and blue, and the wind blows up the clouds:Now my thoughts, gathered from afar,Once again in their patched armor, with rusty plumes and blunted swords,Move out to war.

The morning is clean and blue, and the wind blows up the clouds:

Now my thoughts, gathered from afar,

Once again in their patched armor, with rusty plumes and blunted swords,

Move out to war.

Smoking our morning pipes we shall ride two and twoThrough the woods.For our old cause keeps us together,And our hatred is so precious not death or defeat can break it.

Smoking our morning pipes we shall ride two and two

Through the woods.

For our old cause keeps us together,

And our hatred is so precious not death or defeat can break it.

God willing, we shall this day meet that old enemyWho has given us so many a good beating.Thank God, we have a cause worth fighting for,And a cause worth losing, and a good song to sing!

God willing, we shall this day meet that old enemy

Who has given us so many a good beating.

Thank God, we have a cause worth fighting for,

And a cause worth losing, and a good song to sing!

By an alley lined with tumble-down shacks,And street-lamps askew, half-sputtering,Feebly glimmering on gutters choked with filth, and dogsScratching their mangy backs:Half-naked children are running about,Women puff cigarettes in black doorways,Crickets are crying.Men slouch sullenlyInto the shadows.Behind a hedge of cactus,The smell of a dead horseMingles with the smell of tamales frying.And a girl in a black lace shawlSits in a rickety chair by the square of unglazed window,And sees the explosion of the starsFiercely poised on the velvet sky.And she seems humming to herself:“Stars, if I could reach you(You are so very near that it seems as if I could reach you),I would give you all to the Madonna’s imageOn the gray plastered altar behind the paper flowers,So that Juan would come back to me,And we could live again those lazy burning hours,Forgetting the tap of my fan and my sharp words,And I would only keep four of you—Those two blue-white ones overhead,To put in my ears,And those two orange ones yonderTo fasten on my shoe-buckles.”A little further along the streetA man squats stringing a brown guitar.The smoke of his cigarette curls round his hair,And he too is humming, but other words:“Think not that at your window I wait.New love is better, the old is turned to hate.Fate! Fate! All things pass away;Life is forever, youth is but for a day.Love again if you mayBefore the golden moons are blown out of the skyAnd the crickets die.Babylon and SamarkandAre mud walls in a waste of sand.”

By an alley lined with tumble-down shacks,

And street-lamps askew, half-sputtering,

Feebly glimmering on gutters choked with filth, and dogs

Scratching their mangy backs:

Half-naked children are running about,

Women puff cigarettes in black doorways,

Crickets are crying.

Men slouch sullenly

Into the shadows.

Behind a hedge of cactus,

The smell of a dead horse

Mingles with the smell of tamales frying.

And a girl in a black lace shawlSits in a rickety chair by the square of unglazed window,And sees the explosion of the starsFiercely poised on the velvet sky.And she seems humming to herself:“Stars, if I could reach you(You are so very near that it seems as if I could reach you),I would give you all to the Madonna’s imageOn the gray plastered altar behind the paper flowers,So that Juan would come back to me,And we could live again those lazy burning hours,Forgetting the tap of my fan and my sharp words,And I would only keep four of you—Those two blue-white ones overhead,To put in my ears,And those two orange ones yonderTo fasten on my shoe-buckles.”

And a girl in a black lace shawl

Sits in a rickety chair by the square of unglazed window,

And sees the explosion of the stars

Fiercely poised on the velvet sky.

And she seems humming to herself:

“Stars, if I could reach you

(You are so very near that it seems as if I could reach you),

I would give you all to the Madonna’s image

On the gray plastered altar behind the paper flowers,

So that Juan would come back to me,

And we could live again those lazy burning hours,

Forgetting the tap of my fan and my sharp words,

And I would only keep four of you—

Those two blue-white ones overhead,

To put in my ears,

And those two orange ones yonder

To fasten on my shoe-buckles.”

A little further along the streetA man squats stringing a brown guitar.The smoke of his cigarette curls round his hair,And he too is humming, but other words:“Think not that at your window I wait.New love is better, the old is turned to hate.Fate! Fate! All things pass away;Life is forever, youth is but for a day.Love again if you mayBefore the golden moons are blown out of the skyAnd the crickets die.Babylon and SamarkandAre mud walls in a waste of sand.”

A little further along the street

A man squats stringing a brown guitar.

The smoke of his cigarette curls round his hair,

And he too is humming, but other words:

“Think not that at your window I wait.

New love is better, the old is turned to hate.

Fate! Fate! All things pass away;

Life is forever, youth is but for a day.

Love again if you may

Before the golden moons are blown out of the sky

And the crickets die.

Babylon and Samarkand

Are mud walls in a waste of sand.”

The huge red-buttressed mesa over yonderIs merely a far-off temple where the sleepy sun is burningIts altar fires of pinyon and toyon for the day.The old priests sleep, white-shrouded;Their pottery whistles lie beside them, the prayer-sticks closely feathered.On every mummied face there glows a smile.The sun is rolling slowlyBeneath the sluggish folds of the sky-serpents,Coiling, uncoiling, blue black, sparked with fires.The old dead priestsFeel in the thin dried earth that is heaped about them,Above the smell of scorching, oozing pinyon,The acrid smell of rain.And now the showersSurround the mesa like a troop of silver dancers:Shaking their rattles, stamping, chanting, roaring,Whirling, extinguishing the last red wisp of light.

The huge red-buttressed mesa over yonderIs merely a far-off temple where the sleepy sun is burningIts altar fires of pinyon and toyon for the day.

The huge red-buttressed mesa over yonder

Is merely a far-off temple where the sleepy sun is burning

Its altar fires of pinyon and toyon for the day.

The old priests sleep, white-shrouded;Their pottery whistles lie beside them, the prayer-sticks closely feathered.On every mummied face there glows a smile.

The old priests sleep, white-shrouded;

Their pottery whistles lie beside them, the prayer-sticks closely feathered.

On every mummied face there glows a smile.

The sun is rolling slowlyBeneath the sluggish folds of the sky-serpents,Coiling, uncoiling, blue black, sparked with fires.

The sun is rolling slowly

Beneath the sluggish folds of the sky-serpents,

Coiling, uncoiling, blue black, sparked with fires.

The old dead priestsFeel in the thin dried earth that is heaped about them,Above the smell of scorching, oozing pinyon,The acrid smell of rain.

The old dead priests

Feel in the thin dried earth that is heaped about them,

Above the smell of scorching, oozing pinyon,

The acrid smell of rain.

And now the showersSurround the mesa like a troop of silver dancers:Shaking their rattles, stamping, chanting, roaring,Whirling, extinguishing the last red wisp of light.

And now the showers

Surround the mesa like a troop of silver dancers:

Shaking their rattles, stamping, chanting, roaring,

Whirling, extinguishing the last red wisp of light.

IThe darkness rolls upward.The thick darkness carries with itRain and a ravel of cloud.The sun comes forth upon earth.Palely the dawnLeaves me facing timidlyOld gardens sunken:And in the gardens is water.Sombre wreck-autumnal leaves;Shadowy roofsIn the blue mist,And a willow-branch that is broken.O old pagodas of my soul, how you glittered across green trees!Blue and cool:Blue, tremulously,Blow faint puffs of smokeAcross sombre pools.The damp green smell of rotted wood;And a heron that cries from out the water.IIThrough the upland meadowsI go alone.For I dreamed of someone last nightWho is waiting for me.Flower and blossom, tell me do you know of her?Have the rocks hidden her voice?They are very blue and still.Long upward road that is leading me,Light hearted I quit you,For the long loose ripples of the meadow-grassInvite me to dance upon them.Quivering grass,Daintily poisedFor her foot’s tripping.O blown clouds, could I only race up like you!Oh, the last slopes that are sun-drenched and steep!Look, the sky!Across black valleysRise blue-white aloftJagged unwrinkled mountains, ranges of death.Solitude. Silence.IIIOne chuckles by the brook for me:One rages under the stone.One makes a spout of his mouth,One whispers—one is gone.One over there on the waterSpreads cold ripplesFor meEnticingly.The vast dark treesFlow like blue veilsOf tearsInto the water.Sour sprites,Moaning and chuckling,What have you hidden from me?“In the palace of the blue stone she lies foreverBound hand and foot.”Was it the windThat rattled the reeds together?Dry reeds,A faint shiver in the grasses.IVOn the left hand there is a temple:And a palace on the right-hand side.Foot-passengers in scarletPass over the glittering tide.Under the bridgeThe old river flowsLow and monotonousDay after day.I have heard and have seenAll the news that has been:Autumn’s gold and Spring’s green!Now in my palaceI see foot-passengersCrossing the river,Pilgrims of autumnIn the afternoons.Lotus pools;Petals in the water:Such are my dreams.For me silks are outspread.I take my ease, unthinking.VAnd now the lowest pine-branchIs drawn across the disk of the sun.Old friends who will forget me soon,I must go onTowards those blue death mountainsI have forgot so long.In the marsh grassesThere lies foreverMy last treasure,With the hope of my heart.The ice is glazing over;Torn lanterns flutter,On the leaves is snow.In the frosty eveningToll the old bell for meOnce, in the sleepy temple.Perhaps my soul will hear.Afterglow:Before the stars peepI shall creep into the darkness.

The darkness rolls upward.The thick darkness carries with itRain and a ravel of cloud.The sun comes forth upon earth.

The darkness rolls upward.

The thick darkness carries with it

Rain and a ravel of cloud.

The sun comes forth upon earth.

Palely the dawnLeaves me facing timidlyOld gardens sunken:And in the gardens is water.

Palely the dawn

Leaves me facing timidly

Old gardens sunken:

And in the gardens is water.

Sombre wreck-autumnal leaves;Shadowy roofsIn the blue mist,And a willow-branch that is broken.

Sombre wreck-autumnal leaves;

Shadowy roofs

In the blue mist,

And a willow-branch that is broken.

O old pagodas of my soul, how you glittered across green trees!

Blue and cool:Blue, tremulously,Blow faint puffs of smokeAcross sombre pools.The damp green smell of rotted wood;And a heron that cries from out the water.

Blue and cool:

Blue, tremulously,

Blow faint puffs of smoke

Across sombre pools.

The damp green smell of rotted wood;

And a heron that cries from out the water.

Through the upland meadowsI go alone.For I dreamed of someone last nightWho is waiting for me.

Through the upland meadows

I go alone.

For I dreamed of someone last night

Who is waiting for me.

Flower and blossom, tell me do you know of her?Have the rocks hidden her voice?They are very blue and still.

Flower and blossom, tell me do you know of her?

Have the rocks hidden her voice?

They are very blue and still.

Long upward road that is leading me,Light hearted I quit you,For the long loose ripples of the meadow-grassInvite me to dance upon them.

Long upward road that is leading me,

Light hearted I quit you,

For the long loose ripples of the meadow-grass

Invite me to dance upon them.

Quivering grass,Daintily poisedFor her foot’s tripping.

Quivering grass,

Daintily poised

For her foot’s tripping.

O blown clouds, could I only race up like you!Oh, the last slopes that are sun-drenched and steep!

O blown clouds, could I only race up like you!

Oh, the last slopes that are sun-drenched and steep!

Look, the sky!Across black valleysRise blue-white aloftJagged unwrinkled mountains, ranges of death.

Look, the sky!

Across black valleys

Rise blue-white aloft

Jagged unwrinkled mountains, ranges of death.

Solitude. Silence.

III

One chuckles by the brook for me:One rages under the stone.One makes a spout of his mouth,One whispers—one is gone.

One chuckles by the brook for me:

One rages under the stone.

One makes a spout of his mouth,

One whispers—one is gone.

One over there on the waterSpreads cold ripplesFor meEnticingly.

One over there on the water

Spreads cold ripples

For me

Enticingly.

The vast dark treesFlow like blue veilsOf tearsInto the water.

The vast dark trees

Flow like blue veils

Of tears

Into the water.

Sour sprites,Moaning and chuckling,What have you hidden from me?

Sour sprites,

Moaning and chuckling,

What have you hidden from me?

“In the palace of the blue stone she lies foreverBound hand and foot.”

“In the palace of the blue stone she lies forever

Bound hand and foot.”

Was it the windThat rattled the reeds together?

Was it the wind

That rattled the reeds together?

Dry reeds,A faint shiver in the grasses.

Dry reeds,

A faint shiver in the grasses.

On the left hand there is a temple:And a palace on the right-hand side.Foot-passengers in scarletPass over the glittering tide.

On the left hand there is a temple:

And a palace on the right-hand side.

Foot-passengers in scarlet

Pass over the glittering tide.

Under the bridgeThe old river flowsLow and monotonousDay after day.

Under the bridge

The old river flows

Low and monotonous

Day after day.

I have heard and have seenAll the news that has been:Autumn’s gold and Spring’s green!

I have heard and have seen

All the news that has been:

Autumn’s gold and Spring’s green!

Now in my palaceI see foot-passengersCrossing the river,Pilgrims of autumnIn the afternoons.

Now in my palace

I see foot-passengers

Crossing the river,

Pilgrims of autumn

In the afternoons.

Lotus pools;Petals in the water:Such are my dreams.

Lotus pools;

Petals in the water:

Such are my dreams.

For me silks are outspread.I take my ease, unthinking.

For me silks are outspread.

I take my ease, unthinking.

And now the lowest pine-branchIs drawn across the disk of the sun.Old friends who will forget me soon,I must go onTowards those blue death mountainsI have forgot so long.

And now the lowest pine-branch

Is drawn across the disk of the sun.

Old friends who will forget me soon,

I must go on

Towards those blue death mountains

I have forgot so long.

In the marsh grassesThere lies foreverMy last treasure,With the hope of my heart.

In the marsh grasses

There lies forever

My last treasure,

With the hope of my heart.

The ice is glazing over;Torn lanterns flutter,On the leaves is snow.

The ice is glazing over;

Torn lanterns flutter,

On the leaves is snow.

In the frosty eveningToll the old bell for meOnce, in the sleepy temple.Perhaps my soul will hear.

In the frosty evening

Toll the old bell for me

Once, in the sleepy temple.

Perhaps my soul will hear.

Afterglow:Before the stars peepI shall creep into the darkness.

Afterglow:

Before the stars peep

I shall creep into the darkness.

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