Pomes
So, I spent today cleaning and got distracted by Lament for the Sleepwalker, and I wanted to share the love, since apparently no one in the whole world has heard of Dunstan Thompson but me.
Thompson published two volumes of poetry (Poems in 1943 and Lament for the Sleepwalker in 1947), to much critical acclaim, and then was promptly forgotten. The whole 'brave gay soldier' thing didn't go over well in the fifties, I guess. His work is not in print. I had a devil of a time tracking down a copy of his second collection - the first is extremely rare and I still can't find a copy.
This man is so. Good. There are no words. Or, there are, but they are purely his own. I first read a few lines of one of his poems as part of a larger article that I can no longer find, several years ago. These few lines stuck in my head so firmly that I spent three years looking for him every time I went book shopping (which is as often as I can afford). Here is the bit that captured me:
"This tall horseman, my young man of Mars, scatters the gold dust from his hair, and takes me to pieces like a gun."
I don't know if it hits all of you the way it hit me at the time. The poem still gives me chills.
Here's the whole thing:
THIS TALL HORSEMAN, MY YOUNG MAN OF MARS
This tall horseman, my young man of Mars,
Scatters the gold dust from his hair, and takes
Me to pieces like a gun. The myth forsakes
Him slowly. Almost mortal, he shows the scars
Where medals of honor, cut-steel stars,
Pin death above the heart. But bends, but breaks
In his hand, my love, whose wrecked machinery makes
Time, the inventor, weep through a world of wars.
Guilt like a rust enamels me. I breed
A poison not this murdering youth may dare
In one drop of blood to battle. No delight
Is possible. Only at parting do we need
Each other; together, we are not there
At all. Love, I farewell you out of sight.
Like it? Hate it? Completely ambivalent? *pokes*
Anyway, now that I've attacked you all with my favorite poem, I'd love to see y'all's. Share please? ^_^
Thompson published two volumes of poetry (Poems in 1943 and Lament for the Sleepwalker in 1947), to much critical acclaim, and then was promptly forgotten. The whole 'brave gay soldier' thing didn't go over well in the fifties, I guess. His work is not in print. I had a devil of a time tracking down a copy of his second collection - the first is extremely rare and I still can't find a copy.
This man is so. Good. There are no words. Or, there are, but they are purely his own. I first read a few lines of one of his poems as part of a larger article that I can no longer find, several years ago. These few lines stuck in my head so firmly that I spent three years looking for him every time I went book shopping (which is as often as I can afford). Here is the bit that captured me:
"This tall horseman, my young man of Mars, scatters the gold dust from his hair, and takes me to pieces like a gun."
I don't know if it hits all of you the way it hit me at the time. The poem still gives me chills.
Here's the whole thing:
THIS TALL HORSEMAN, MY YOUNG MAN OF MARS
This tall horseman, my young man of Mars,
Scatters the gold dust from his hair, and takes
Me to pieces like a gun. The myth forsakes
Him slowly. Almost mortal, he shows the scars
Where medals of honor, cut-steel stars,
Pin death above the heart. But bends, but breaks
In his hand, my love, whose wrecked machinery makes
Time, the inventor, weep through a world of wars.
Guilt like a rust enamels me. I breed
A poison not this murdering youth may dare
In one drop of blood to battle. No delight
Is possible. Only at parting do we need
Each other; together, we are not there
At all. Love, I farewell you out of sight.
Like it? Hate it? Completely ambivalent? *pokes*
Anyway, now that I've attacked you all with my favorite poem, I'd love to see y'all's. Share please? ^_^