Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HERE IS MUSIC: 19. BEFORE AND AFTER: BEFORE, by AUSTIN PHILIPS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HERE IS MUSIC: 19. BEFORE AND AFTER: BEFORE, by                    
First Line: Books as my background. Books
Last Line: Of e'er-increasing anger, ice-cold, hun-ward hate.
Subject(s): Books; History; Libraries & Librarians; Scholarship & Scholars; Youth; Reading; Historians


BOOKS as my background. Books
About, around, before
Me. Books whose obedient store,
In row, in regiment,
Stands, circumambient,
On ledges, shelves, in nooks.
Books in brave backs. Books brown
With age. Books worn with use.
Books blatant, platitudinous. Books whose ore
Once mined, may fire and fuse
Long-harboured thoughts, thus lead
Towards action, drive to deed.
Books which exalt, cast down.
Books from which each who looks within them wrings
That which, himself, he brings.

Books born but now. Books blest
By generous gift, bequeathed
This hundred years, en-wreathed,
En-riched by dead men's hope
Of widening live men's scope:
Books which some scholar-priest,
Or cultured squire, devised.
Books universal, vast
In outlook. Books particular, in-breathed
With hours of Devon's Past,
Which tell of Sea-Kings, wake
The drum-taps of Her Drake,
Or else hold, crystallised,
That proud millennium of memories,
Her chiefest City's prize.

Her chiefest City! Home
Of twin-tow'r'd Norman Fane,
Liege-Lord of Isca's Plain,
Gate of the wind-kissed West,
Through which glad thousands pressed
In days of Peace, shall come
In Peace's day again.
Her chiefest City! Whose
Story and song, archive and legend, fain
For friendly eye, repose
Eager of access, stand
Hungry for human hand,
Slumbrous, yet wakeful, stay
Stable and safe, secure in this great room
(As it seems!) till crack of Doom.

Slumbrous, yet wakeful, stay!
These woeful hours of War,
Scholars be scattered far,
Students in battle-dress,
Perish 'neath pitiless,
Bestial bombardments, slay
Scholar and student, seek
Life and not knowledge, strive
To build no more, bent but to break and mar,
That all they love may live. ...
Swift to annihilate, strong,
Thus, to right needless wrong,
Unwilling, wrung to wreak
Vengeance; impelled, implacable, to destroy,
That out of Woe come Joy.

Empty this afternoon,
Shows, stays this spacious room,
(Seeming secure till Doom!)
Save for stray, somnolent Cit.
Windows, flung wide, admit
Exquisite airs. A June
Bee, lost and baffled, drones
Discomfiture. Within
Low-walled enclosure, guarded as by boom,
Lolls grey librarian, thin
And agèd, scarce awake;
While muted voices break
In multitudinous tones,
Borne up from flower-lit lawns and closes clear,
On dull and drowsy ear.

On dull and drosy ear
Of all save me, who wait
Eager, impatient, rate
Each instant of delay
Scarce less than live-long day. ...
Whose heart sinks, sick with fear
Lest Fate have filched and stole
Delights yet unfulfilled. ...
Whose every nerve, a-thirst, insatiate,
Aches, ardent and un-stilled. ...
Whose hopes, as from desert sand,
Possess some Promised Land,
Seen not with eye but soul. ...
Whose spirit, fed long since with manna, spurns
All else, and for manna yearns.

But lo! A footstep falls.
A shadow shows. The walls,
Screen-wise, shine forth with swiftly-moving shape,
A glad, a gracious sight
Shatters my soul's sad night,
My hungry heart beats high, throughout me sweep
Untellable emotions, infinite, deep
Ecstasies surge, up-leap,
Divine, volitionless,
O'erwhelming tenderness
Masters my being, floods and thrills it, turns,
Fearful in vehemence,
To sudden and intense
Passion, which fires my mortal flesh, and burns
My midmost breast, so brings
Madness a moment, stings
Life all but to surcease,
So fierce its force, so sharp. ...
Then, in one second, sinks to adorable Peace,
'Neath stricken chords that spell my senses' woof and warp,
'Neath woman's voice, 'neath thridding, throbbing, human harp.

'Neath stricken chords that ring
Liquid and golden, bring
Swift, glad soulagement, shatter with their sound
Spiritual shackles, send
My soul sublime ... that lend
It wings to waft it upward from Earth's bound,
To bear it down to sacred and profound
Depths ... that defeat, impound
Unrest and longing, end
Harsh, empty hours, transcend
Delights e'er known, e'er-dreamed of, bring new joys,
Restore Life's rhythm, give
Fresh light by which to live,
Make plain my path, extend me equipoise,
Fire me with faith, outstrip
All fabled fellowship,
Urge to more effort, speak
High message, bid me press
For ever forward, seek
Newer and nobler goals ... that, bidding, bind and bless
My senses, grant me all Life holds of Happiness.

Remote, in nest-like nook,
Which none may overlook,
Hidden we sit—I worshipping as at shrine—
Hearing loved voice unveil
Half-whispered, whole week's tale,
Spelled by sweet eyes, which sparkle and outshine
All other gems, superbly sapphirine,
Which lift my heart like wine. ...
Drinking, as one in drouth,
Words which your mobile mouth
And dimpled, smiling lips make magical. ...
Watching, with devot's gaze,
Greedy for each fresh phrase,
Hungry to hear your happy laughter fall,
Bell-like, on my blest ears,
As music of the spheres. ...
Thrilled through, supremely stirred,
Incredibly exalted, yet aware,
As falls each silvern word,
Of inner calm, of rest renewed, of spacious, rare
One-ness with man, with God, with Earth, Sea, Sky and Air.

One-ness, and wide escape,
Freedom of spirit, deep
Delight in living—richer, larger way
Of Life itself—ceaseless
Increase of consciousness
And spiritual enlargement, holiday
From care, whole glorious gamut, grave and gay,
Of known emotion, ray
Of exquisite, intense,
Supreme experience
For which each hour, each day, each week, each year,
Since, from the womb's dark night,
I fought frail way towards light,
Has been but preparation, bought full dear,
Forced at a fearful price
By sorrow, sacrifice,
Daring, adventure, foil,
Strife, solitude, unrest,
Unending effort, toil
All but incredible: whose offspring, ten times blest,
Are Vision, Purpose ... pow'r to recognise the best.

In Youth, the soul of man
Projects instinctive plan
For self-fulfilment, pre-appointed road;
Essays to walk this. Soon—
Long ere he know Life's noon—
Life and Environment o'er-lay, o'erload
His premonitions, cruelly corrode
His spirit, coax and goad,
In early hours and rath,
Him into alien path,
Force him afar, drive him disorientate,
De-routed and adrift,
Ruthlessly rend and rift
His Chart of Hope; hang out sad, second-rate
Signals, bemuse a gaze
Happy if no worse ways
Hold it and charm than these,
No grosser measures yet,
No meaner memories
Rise, ruthless as he ages, Petrels from Tophet,
Hearalds of hideous storm-clouds bearing black regret.

The Human Soul, in Youth,
Builds up, would fain betroth
Itself to some ideal object, burns
To find this, finds the chase
Too long, too hard, the pace
Too hot, too oft abandons these and turns,
Tired, to trivial substitute, then learns
Its fault, accepts Fate, mourns
Life-long, or, lacking zest
Steadfast to seek the best,
Sinks to some lower level, loses Faith,
Shuns further enterprise,
Comes, in sad cowardice
And wishful thinking, to reject, as wraith
Early imagined Queen,
Consort that might have been,
Or, nobler, strive to slay
Sorrow by working good,
Day after drab, drear day,
Drugs shame with ceaseless service to some baser brood
But half its own ... baned offspring of inferior blood.

Sometimes man's soul stays strong
And steadfast—writhen, wrung,
Yet propped by happy accident, keeps course—
Clings firm to first essay,
Finds, at long last, sure way,
Baffled, but never broken, knows to nurse
Early ideals, nursing, knows new force,
With which to escape man's curse,
Holds on, resolved to cheat
Fate, to escape defeat,
Or through defeat, most gloriously discerns
His goal more clearly, comes
Nearer success, succumbs
Less often, struggles onwards, seeks and yearns,
Looks and discards, perfects
High vision, shuns, rejects
The false, fights on a-new,
Ploughs past dread desert sand,
Then, sudden, sees the True,
The Thing Itself, and takes his high, devoted stand
On Pisgah-top, to sight, like Prophet, Promised Land.

To sight ... but not, alas!
Always, to press and pass,
Swift and exalted, down that mountain's side,
To have, to hold, to grasp
His goal, triumphant clasp
Reward so long elusive, much-denied,
Much-visioned comrade, proud, lone spirit's bride. ...
Too oft, indeed, the tide
Of Circumstance and Fate
Has swung, has turned too late,
What seemed success proves failure, gulf of years
Too great, or else some wall,
Odious, material,
Hostile, implacable, uplifts, uprears
Its hateful head, derides,
Denies advance, divides
Twin souls; despotical,
All-pow'rful, pitiless,
Forbids corporeal
Union, stands firm and fixed in sullen ruthlessness,
Renews, restores, brings back but now shed Storm and Stress.

Beautiful one, blest, boon
First-fruit of Flaming June,
(Your happy birth-month!), flow'r begot by Grace
On Intellect, glad dream
Of Life and Hope, supreme
And rare enchantress, harbinger of Peace,
Yet born, miraculous, to bring release
From lethargy, increase
And heighten pow'r, who rest
My soul, yet give new zest
To living, strengthen, quicken, stimulate
To fresh achievement, stir
My flagging senses, spur
And urge me once again to strive with Fate. ...
Empress and Goddess, Whose
Genius it seems to fuse
And fire the essential force
Within me: You, whose sight
Stays me to steer true course. ...
What are You, in Your glory, but the beckoning, bright
And Promised Land, vain-looked on, seen from Pisgah's height?

So is it bid to be,
To-day, 'twixt You and me:
Material barriers, gulfs of age, both these,
Black and inimical,
Build up cold, cruel wall,
Darkly divide us; outworn loyalties
Endure to tyrannise,
Stand strong between us and our sympathies,
Sever twin selves, make none
Of natural union,
See us 'neath separate, distant roofs, us twain,
Who, meeting, find delight,
Stimulus, quick respite
From spiritual inhibition, greatly gain
And gloriously give,
Royally, richly live,
Know in glad kinship, all
Happiness holds for man,
Save joys corporeal. ...
So is it You and I, so close in heart, 'neath ban
Of body dwell, as by perverse, predestined plan.

Ah, God! What gracious hours,
Gay, golden, glad, were ours,
Did You and I, dis-chained, delivered, dwell,
Caught by less luckless woof,
Beneath some self-same roof,
Nor know, each time we meet, dread passing-bell
Sound to suspend sweet union, sever spell
Of one-ness, strike—sad knell—
Upon our souls, divide
Our bodies, mock, arride
Our parting, sting to grief and, pitiless,
Slay rest and peace, so steal
Away unwonted weal,
Place cruel period to rare happiness,
Send us again awhile
Into that old exile
Of spirit known to us,
Ere each re-met and won
Soulagement, stimulus,
Found—no more feckless sport, sad serf, frail myrmidon
Of Fate—fresh strengths, new might, in high communion.

Nay, even now, this room
(Seeming secure till Doom!)
Takes on a growing, tender intimacy,
Becomes meet background, brings
Sense of familiar things,
Turns as to book-lined study, wherein we—
We two—have met for respite royally,
And, lingering, loth to part, perdurably
Entrenched within four walls,
(Careless, twin prodigals
Of Time!) sit on and on, enforced to exchange
Such exquisite thoughts and deep,
That, voicing them, we reap
Sensations so divine we seem to range,
Happy and halcyon,
Through all Emotion. ...
Which spell us, soothe us, send
Us e'er more close, awake
Lethè-lulled knowledge, lend
Remembrance of old incarnation, blend and make
Us one through ancient joys, lost gladness, past mistake.

Mirage and misconceit,
May-be—born but to cheat
My willing, wishful-thinking sight and sense—
Yet more and more it seems
You, who outstrip my dreams
And yet fulfil them, come from some immense
Aeons-old Past to give me permanence
And Peace, bring prescience
Of that firm course, which I
Must follow till I die. ...
That, finding You, at last I fully crowned
Experience, free'd my days
From shackles, walked fresh ways
And travelled ancient high-roads, haply found
Appointed vision, knew
The Beautiful, the True,
Long-lost, long-sought, the mate
Mine since life came to be:
Her who, oft incarnate,
Bears, and has ever borne, must always bring to me
Stimulus, strength, hope, courage ... down Eternity.

Eternity! Yet man
Who stays but slender span
On Earth, invented Time by which to gauge
And mete such trivial spell
As may be his to dwell
In human shape, make passing pilgrimage
Beneath the Sun, Moon, Stars, have harbourage
Under High Heaven, stage
His little life, learn, prove—
Alike—toil, sorrow, love. ...
Man, in his folly, miserably afraid
To walk staunch, strong, alone,
Until his course were run,
Shrank from self-measure, pitifully made
Himself new lord, fresh yoke,
Asked yet an added stroke
From Fate, shunned captainship
Of his own soul, thereby
Walked beneath one more whip,
Self-doomed, self-damned, to dwell unceasing, till he die,
Under Time's cynic hand in coward slavery.

Time, then, Man's ruthless lord,
Time—whose suspended sword
Hangs over all men's heads—cuts short or cloys
Here, upon Earth, delight,
Loves to bring hateful night
To happy hours, who hideously employs
His potency to shrivel human joys
And turn mankind to toys. ...
Time, with fell falchion, shears
Murders and massacres,
Our momentary meeting, sounds abhorrèd hour,
Odious, implacable,
Makes my Elysium Hell,
Utters his mocking note, so severs our
Sweet one-ness, sees you rise,
Slave of his tyrannies,
Shake hapless head and say
Reluctant words, deal sharp,
Black grief and dire dismay,
Which rend, yet thrill throughout, my senses' woof and warp,
'Neath wondrous voice, 'neath thridding, throbbing, human harp.

Even as you pass, you seem
To shed some last supreme
And lingering light along those book-lined walls,
Gracious, to leave, inform
Them with some touch of warm
Half-human, half-divine great-heartedness, which falls
On dusty shelves, makes fief and feodals
Of varied volumes, calls,
Their authors back to live
Sees each, re-quickened, rive
The grave itself, enchanted 'neath your smile,
Renew his youth, and thrill,
Look, long ... drop back to chill,
Pale death and cold oblivion, sad exile,
New nothingness, old night,
As you escape his sight. ...
While I, who follow, feel
The Scythe-Man's finger seek
And search and grope and steal
Upon my hungry heart, bid, baned to endure the bleak
Cold want of Your dear being one whole live-long week.

One whole and live-long week!
Even as we sit and seek
Our several shelters, 'neath divided roofs,
(Yours in great grange, 'neath hills,
Mine in small town, where rills
Rush down the roadside, tear through rusted troughs,
Serve as cool cuspidors to chattering chuffs,
And pond to paddling oafs)
There falls on worshipping me
Such deep-felt ecstasy
It surely seems that, Earth-bound, here beneath
The stars, there cannot lie
Aught more to do but die,
For him who knows all life holds out, save death. ...
Who deems that life become—
You gone—vain vacuum,
Who only lives, endures
To see and hear you, feels
All else glad forfeitures,
Who, parting from you, finds that filching Fortune steals
Half of himself ... and grinds what rests 'twixt ruthless wheels.

Such is—has been—the way
Of this sad, glad June day,
Built of despair and blackness, blent with rich delight
(Rare, strange kaleidoscope,
Dark-colour'd, gay with hope!)
But neither You nor I foresees the night
foredoomed to follow, filled with foul affright,
Or how sharp, stabbing, bright
Lightnings shall cleave and rive
The skies, and splenitive
Thunders resound and bay the moon and break
Men's sleep, as bombs, accurst
And bestial, whine and burst
O'er Isca's town and plain and, falling, shake
Devon's wide acres, send
Woe to her sons and lend
Grief to her daughters, chill
All hearts that hear and wait,
Fearful for news ... instil
The West with ache for vengeance, loose afresh fierce spate
Of e'er-increasing anger, ice-cold, Hun-ward hate.





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