#9

From the book: The Worlds One Thousand Best Poems Vol. 9
copyright 1929, Funk and Wagnalls Co.

Poetry is Such Sweet Sorrow

Ye flowers, sigh forth your ordours with sad buds;
Flush deep, ye roses and anemones
And more than ever now, oh hyacinth, show
Your written sorrows-- the sweet singer's dead.

I heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till my blood was frozen slowly,
And my eyes were darkened wholly,

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark.

Stormid at with shot and shell,
Boldly I rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death
Into the mouth of hell.

But now shine on, and what care I,
Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl
To countercharm of space and hollow sky,
And do accept my madness, and would die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyestrings break in death,
When I soar through tracks unknown
See thee on Thy Judgment-Throne;

Nay, Tell me first in what new region springs
A flowr, that bears inscribed the names of kings.

Extra credit

Dante's Inferno epigraph:
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
( if I believed my reply were given)
A persona chemia tornasse al mondo,
(to one who might ever return to the earth, this fire would cease further monement)
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
(but as for this chasm)
Mia perciocche giammai di questo fondo
(no one has ever come back alive---)
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
(if what I have heard is true---)
Sensa tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
(without fearing infamy will I respond to you)
I believe T.S. Elliot chose to use Dante's Inferno epigraph to give homage to the Poet, and also to add emphasis on his interactions with people in the poem, even if his reply/response were given to them, would it have made a difference to the lady's talking of Michelangelo, "So how should I presume? And how should I presume? And then should I presume? And how should I begin?" The dammed souls in the depths of hell speaking their secrets is similar to the confessions of J. Alfred Prufrock in that he too is confessing his vanity of what others think. "When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin." He feels like he is a specimen to be scrutinized and dissected, in his eyes pinned. He is confessing like many of the dammed souls because he too is in a state of eternal hell/limbo. How should he start a conversation, what people will think of him, with his balding head, and rolled up pant, his age, when he is around such women/people. The audience in Dante's Inferno is like that of the audience in J. Alfred Prufrock in that we all have vanity in us. How we look in certain people's company, are we too big, or small, pretty or ugly, rich or poor. What will people think? Its the fact that all people judge and are judged for what they do in life, and in turn in death. He is reaching the age to start thinking of the "eternal footman" and death laughs. But doesn't death laugh at us all? Everyone eventually meets death.

Pillows Fallen From Heaven #18

He dreamt of feather pillows from the time he was just a young buck, My Grampa. The kind of pillows that are soft like clouds, floating up into the atmosphere. Swirling, whirling with just one touch to the little pink flowers. Aereolar brown, were the pillow cases. Like the skin of a velvet brown mink or martin. Resting your head just so. Tilted just right. Makes your nest nice and tight. Cuddle right-in-between-them. The perfect angle of rest, and of sight. The kind of rest you can curl up in a ball and forget you were ever born. Rest that takes you to a whole other plane of consciousness, bliss. Uncontrollable, unequivetable, unrelentless, euphoria---, ultimate utopia. Just two minutes there will put your eyes and body to sleep, but your mind is still left racing, like your heart. It all started with Grandmother’s soft feather pillows, they were the best and biggest. Fluffy if you like. They were full of love. Both of them, the twins, she called them. Big wouldn’t give them justice. Enormous, ginormous, still isn’t quit the word, wondrous, maybe. I think ‘ol Gramps was ambidextrous, never was he tenebrous. His demeanor was always happy, especially after a nice long nipper. The sweet smell that they had, lilac. And a touch of White Diamonds. Just around the neck. The softest pillows of the planet, the atmosphere, they always drew you in near….Never Fear. The gloriousness of them, hugs with no fear. Lightnin and thunda do sometimes clash, but those pillows will always last. Through the long night and until the wee morn. Grandmother and her pillows are now gone. And I’ll have to give it to the good ‘ol boy. Got himself a few other pairs, accompanied with Choke-cherry pie. He dreamt of feather pillows from the time he was just a young buck.