![]() |
Classic and Contemporary Poetry
CUPS OF ILLUSION, by HENRY BELLAMANN Poet's Biography First Line: From this tower room above the wall Last Line: As bird shadows on the grass. Subject(s): Imagination; Fancy | |||
From this tower room above the wall I have watched the sunworn city And the sea. I have seen the nights Drain the streets Of light and sound, The days shrivel to thin sheets Of wrinkled silver On the tide. I have seen men come Like stippled shade along the floor, And go, as lightly brushed, As unremembered, as leaf shape Tangled in a blur of glass. I have made cups With chisel and fire and stain; I have made cups -- Amethyst, silver, and gold, Emerald, agate, and bronze; I have made cups for pride, And cups for a woman's heart. I have made cups For the altars of God, And cups for perfume and wine; Ivory, iron and clay, Red cups for feasting, And cups for sacrifice; Turquoise cups for a birthday, Ebony cups for dice; Cups of crystal To pay for a bride, And delicate cups for tears. My cups were the pomp of kings, And the solace of lonely men. Long years I worked and copied My thoughts on my colored cups, -- (Chisel and fire and crimson, Sapphire and purple and pearl.) But I knew as I burned and painted The world on beautiful cups That the world was a painted curtain Cheating the artist's eyes; I knew that the rainbow curtain Hid a thing past all surmise. Still I carved and burned and copied On opal and copper and blue, Wings, and the glory of woman, And clouds, And fishes, And ships. . . . I knew that beyond the curtain Was a world of final surprise Pure and poignant and perfect, Passing all men's surmise. So I said as I chisselled and carved The world in scarlet and clay, I can see what is there on the curtain, Painted and seeming to stir; But I know that behind the delusion Are the things that really move. I shall mock the thin confusion Of this imaged veil of deceit; I shall make a new cup of illusion From a dream quite strange and complete. I shall use not a bird, not a flower, Not a sign from this world of defeat. Then out of my deepest knowing I made a new shape for a vase. I fashioned and moulded and carved A new line of a consummate grace -- A new shape, A new lucent color, And wings that shadowed a face. Out of my depest knowing I painted a curious glowing, A light of imagined sea, But never a river or tree, Or even the ardent going Of birds that ever could be. Then every one could see A flame of figures curl and twine About the stem; And every one could see A brilliant wine that seemed to fill It to the brim and shine. Each saw a thing most different Engraved upon the side; Each saw a special vision And looked again and cried. Some said it was a thing of ill -- Some said it was divine. But not again was any certain If this world be not a curtain Brocade with things That seem to move, -- Or if there was a face Upon the cup, Shadowed with wings. * * * Looking down From this room above the town I watch the days In long retreat, And men upon their ways Along the street. They are like leaves across a floor, Like phantoms flitting past a door, -- As lightly brushed, As unremembered, As bird shadows on the grass. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IMAGINED COPPERHEAD by ANDREW HUDGINS A SICK CHILD by RANDALL JARRELL IMAGINARY TROUBLE by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS EVERYTHING THAT ACTS IS ACTUAL by DENISE LEVERTOV ON THE MEETING OF GARCIA LORCA AND HART CRANE by PHILIP LEVINE |
|