Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE MADNESS OF SAUL, by EDITH SITWELL Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: O vineyards of the world, cry to the dawn Last Line: Crush down the beat of time. It was my heart. | ||||||||
Semichorus I of Ethiopian Women O VINEYARDS of the world, cry to the Dawn -- Great streams of light that water all the world And flow like music in our veins, bring life To those unborn. Fresh founts and waterways Of the young light, flow down and lie like peace Upon the upturned faces of the blind. For all the winds and wings of the wide dark Fan us to flame, and, Mother of the world, I stand with hands upraised to the young Day. Semichorus II The Sun's wide wings have fanned our bodies black: With eyelids like the flashing of a sword, And lips like fire of flowers, or frankincense, We builded Day with our immortal kiss. We bring thee flowers, some pale with unshed tears, All lustrous with the echoes of the dawn, And perfumed with the light, or flame of flowers As yellow as the hair of Iacchus -- They grew in palace portals of the Sun. And these shall touch the eyelids of the moon With slumber, fill with music the chill air. Semichorus I O we are black because the heat hath kissed Our lips, those heavy grapes, and laid a kiss On eyelids like the chambers of the South Wherefrom the sweet light drips for frankincense. And we have brought you flowers, -- mounds of silver, And full of chilly bubbles for the bees. Semichorus II We sat beside the rivers and we wept, For we are black beneath the Sun's hot kiss. The Sun hath left his tent and kissed our breasts Till they were sweeter than the budding grapes, The savour of our eyelids seemed the morn. And then She came, the music of the air, And all the old worlds died away like dew. Semichorus I We are the perfumed portals of the dawn, We are the flowering vineyards of the Sun That break in music, glorify the Lord. Our heartstrings like the music of the suns Echo across the splendour of the earth, And Time, a fiery dew, upon our hair Is shed and fades; with lips and veins I cry -- Light fills me, light invades me, light is life. (Enter Saul) Semichorus II I heard a cry that rustled through the day: Broad rivers fanned by wings of many winds Have such a sound. But then it died again. And all night long I heard the tread of Doom. Saul Why have you slain the Sun? He was my brother, He kills the one he loves. So brothers do. Semichorus I The Sun hath golden feet to crush our grapes: But all the grapes of joy grew ripe too soon. Saul Flesh is but dew, it falls like summer rains. She came, a fiery sun, to drain my life, And she hath kissed me, melted up my veins. (Enter Atarah, Mother of Saul) Atarah Behold me, broken on the wheel of light; My footsteps are the tread of blinded Doom. Chorus Thy body reels as though some unheard wind, Broken from Hell, blew on thee. What is this? Atarah Slain, slain, and by the hand of his own brother. Chorus Thy lips are red, but not with blood of fruits. Atarah I kissed my son. My lips shall wither now. Chorus And thou art clothed with trembling like the grass. Atarah My name is madness, I whose face was light, Thus I exhale from all the chasms of life, Till heaven is broken into dust and dies. Chorus Queen, old age clear and terrible as noon, Thy face hath gathered darkness from the heavens. Atarah Pull down the heavens, seal mine eyes with night. O emptiness sifts endlessly, they rock, come down. I had two eyes, and she has blinded them -- Two breasts to feed the world: she hacked them off. These were my sons, twin-born, my roots of life: And she has torn my roots, I drift through space. Saul Ay, there is nothing left but silence now. A cry went up, the weft of the world was riven, Then silence filled my veins instead of blood. She came, a snake, and stabbed my veins with love. Her fangs grew in my blood. I killed my brother. Atarah You should have stabbed my womb, Saul, my son Saul. Saul O that my tired body could find sleep Once more within your dark womb, O my mother. Atarah The earth is drunken with my lamentation, And night invades my veins and flows within My face grown blind and featureless as heaven. I would Time were a dew that fades away, And life, a veil the hate of God has riven, And this sad house of clay wherein I dwell Were broken like the earth, -- were spilt as rain. My tongue is changed to dust. I fain would weep Only mine eyelids withered when he died. Chorus Nay thou art veiled with tears like some sad river. Atarah Bountiful Death, with lips and veins I cry Come to my breast that I may give you suck. I had two sons, they clung upon my breast -- But oh, they never need my breast-milk now -- My breasts will wither for the want of them. Amasa Nay sit a little, warming in the sun; We have such withered hands that soon grow cold. I bore men too, and then the old grey men, The old grey hungry men said one word "war" -- And wrung my children's bodies dry of blood And hid them in a hole lest I should kiss them. We are so old we should be gone, -- too old To die, too weak to creep into the grave, Two poor old women: for these strong young men Have taken all the grave-room, and we're left! Atarah The lips that kissed my sons are changed to dust, But I've one prayer still left, one prayer, O God! Seal up her eyes that she may never weep; Seal up her tongue upon the Judgement Day; Seal up the earth that she may never creep To hide her face from thee within the grave: Seal up her breast that she may never feed Those children of her womb, the worms of death! Saul Crush down the beat of Time, O mighty God -- The pulse of youth, the veins of love and hate, That I may hear the crying of her soul. With those lips, red as hell, she burned the world. The light is dead, for with her long black hair That twists and writhes like hell's long hissing river She quenched the light. O she is very pale: -- White with the dust of aeons is her face -- Things ground to powder by the mills of lust. And I will sift her dust like whitened ash From craters of my hate. She looked at me . . . My bones were water, and the world lay dead. Atarah My body is broken as the form of night. I gave these light, and they have blinded me. Chorus Our heartstrings were the music of the suns When their strong youth comes freshened from deep seas; We were the perfum'd portals of the dawn -- The singing gardens of the Pleiades. The vineyards of the world, our heavy locks, When all the fruits of summer shout for joy; Our eyelids were the chambers of the south, The gold light drips therefrom like frankincense. Then madness blew on us, a mighty wind: The palaces of light are overthrown And broken lie the rainbows, their great harps, With burning music muted by the dust. Our thoughts, strong horses that unfettered ran Within the golden pastures of the Day; Then madness reined them; she has drunk their strength As summer drains the strongest rivers' pride. We built new worlds with our immortal kiss, Then madness swept like Time across our worlds. And when we spoke, all space broke into flower Till madness came like winter withering; And Time was but the beat of heart to heart, Till madness sealed the heart-beat of the world. Bull-throated now the fires of madness blast: The world's vast walls reel blindly, then collapse. Semichorus Pull down the heavens like a sackcloth pall To spread upon our faces sealed with night; Crush out the dawn-spring from the ruined heaven, The fabric of the air is torn apart: The world is dead. There is no world at all. The light is dead. There shall be no more light. Pull down the heavens like a sackcloth pall. Crush down the beat of Time. It was my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: EARLY SPRING by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: FLEECING TIME by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: FOX TROT by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: SERENADE by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: SPINNING SONG by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: SPRING by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE BEAR by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE DOLL by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE FOX; FOR ANN PEARN by EDITH SITWELL BUCOLIC COMEDY: WHY by EDITH SITWELL ELEGY: THE GHOST WHOSE LIPS WERE WARM; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL |
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