Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HERE IS MUSIC: CHANT ROYAL; FOR NORMAN WHATLEY, by AUSTIN PHILIPS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HERE IS MUSIC: CHANT ROYAL; FOR NORMAN WHATLEY, by                    
First Line: Frustrate and failure, fortune's footstool, fate's
Last Line: Shall not look down on one who wholly lived in vain.
Subject(s): Crime & Criminals; Youth


FRUSTRATE and failure, Fortune's footstool, Fate's
Fond, foolish whipping-boy, poor plaything, bound
By cloying Civil Service shackledom, the State's
Most minor minion, glued of foot to ground
From which I fain would soar with ruffled wings
That dire disuse and secret sorrowings
And tears of impotence had tumbled—trick'd, trapped, torn
By unused strengths, goaded by gifts inborn
But crushed since childhood, beaten, baulked again
And yet again—I felt, adrift, forlorn,
That I had wholly lived, must live, my life in vain.

Then (as to some sad soul whom Hell's black gates
Yawn wide to welcome, yet who lifts suppliant hand
And seeming-foolish pray'r to-wards Heaven, sates
His eyes with hopeless hopings) passionate, fond,
Fierce orison found answer. She—whose sufferings
And faults and fires were great as mine, whom stings
And home-forged stabs, black basenesses, quick thorn
Of gross ingratitudes had waked to scorn,
Love, hatred, nobleness, divine disdain,
Hunger to help self-helpers—lighted, made reborn
Life I had held, so long, were wholly lived in vain.

Hers was that act which Time himself abates
No whit within my memory. Edith Bland,
(The world's E. Nesbit!) whose work decorates
A name once known our whole wide Empire round,
Had eyes, heart, hands to help, had monishings,
Had strength to strengthen, mend my waverings,
Taught me that what had seemed defeat was dawn
Of vict'ry, night blest prelude to bright morn,
Bid me take horse once more, go tilt amain
With sharpen'd spear-point, trumpet-sound and horn,
Lest wholly, at long last, I live my life in vain.

I built on bye-gone griefs, old loves, new hates,
Past hopes and present passions fiercely fanned
To fire and frenzy by sharp need. Fresh straits
I forced apace, found openings; quick demand
Came for my stories; secret, intimate things
Wrenched and set forth from ancient heart-burnings,
Ambitions, joys, rebuffs, (what time, as pawn
To envious Fate, I walked aloof and shorn
Of ached-for friendships), brought, in lieu of pain,
Words gracious-grateful such as found me drawn
To deem I had not wholly lived my life in vain.

Nay, more. Those seeming-lost, of distant dates,
Some severed by harsh Circumstance; some bann'd
By smug convention which Suburbia rates
So richly; some exiled in alien land;
Some lied away, long since, by whisperings
Of tenth-rate traitors skilled in murderings,
Blew back and blurted praise spontaneous, worn,
False, genuine; while men whose deeds adorn
Our days and era showed themselves full fain
Of friendship ... showed me, too, I need not mourn
Lest I had wholly lived, must live, my life in vain.

Envoi

But best and happiest gift changed Fortune brings
Is Knowledge that my words once touched the strings
Of a boy's heart, thus helped him who, in turn,
Gave Clifton guidance rather glad than stern. ...
Since such be so, his generous words make plain
Non omnis moriar. My life's last bourne
Shall not look down on one who wholly lived in vain.





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