Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HERE IS MUSIC: RESPICIT PHILOSOPHUS, by AUSTIN PHILIPS



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HERE IS MUSIC: RESPICIT PHILOSOPHUS, by                    
First Line: Boys, of my blood but whom
Last Line: Send you god's truth, man's love.
Subject(s): Philosophy & Philosophers; Youth


BOYS, of my blood but whom
I ne'er have seen, shall see
Never; since 'twixt you three
And me, your kinsman, cold
Cruel and manifold
Gulfs lurk—hard, harsh heirloom
From that old man who strove
Vainly to bend, to break
(Narcissus-like, in nameless vanity)
His eldest son, so make
Him slave perpetuate,
Spiritually eunuchate,
Damned, doomed to drab, drear groove. ...
What have you heard of me? What lies assail
Your ears? What odious tale?

Sons of my sisters (each
Among them dupe and slave
Of him who from his grave
Strikes at his first-born: who, dead
Lives on to-day in dread
Stark influence, stays to reach,
Drives daughters' minds as when
He dwelt on earth, reigned, ruled
At home in hateful tyranny, would rave
Whene'er withstood, be-fool'd
Broken and baffled me,
Ached to make nullity
Of natural gifts, and then
Had me in hate because I saved my soul. ...)
What falsehoods fog you, gull?

Nephews unknown to me,
What (when you hear my name
Bandied about with blame,
Heaped with reproach, made mud—
Refuse from far-off feud!—
Spoken contemptuously)
What do you think, what say?
Does instant wrath uprise,
Do you feel sudden shame
Stab your young hearts, surprise
Your senses, and hate to hear
That one by blood so near
To you, in distant day
Taken and trapped, broke from captivity,
Trusted himself, won free?

Lest things be thus, I leave
These lines to circumvent
Falsehood, as testament
To ope young eyes, to express
Truth in true singleness
Of spirit, not to grieve
Or shock your souls, but seek
Just judgment at your hand,
Essay, in all restraint, to represent
Things as they are, to stand
As before Bar, without fear,
Steadfast and conscience-clear,
Ask strength from you, not meek
Obedience to your grandsire, crave you halt,
Nor hold me all in fault.

Nor for one instant think
I pose as faultless. I
Am full of faults, espy
My myriad failings, sigh
In all sincerity
For these, unceasing drink
Draughts of remorse, regret,
As each man must who feels
How far he fails to reach his inner, high
Ideals, finds defeat
In these his life-long lot,
E'er present, ne'er forgot. ...
Know, then, that he who appeals
To you—his kinsmen—for fair hearing, teems
With unaccomplished dreams.

But know, from boyhood's hour,
On into manhood, she
Who bare me, ruthlessly
Filched from me light of day,
Turned her loved face away,
Slave to her harsh and dour
Husband, who, life-long, held
Her hapless, will-less slave
Of an abominable jealousy,
Down to and from the grave. ...
So that, discouraged, crushed,
Mocked-at, despised, and pushed
From out the Home, in cowardice I quell'd
In piteous shame, of parents' help bereft,
My napkin-hidden gift.

Know that, what time I dwelt,
Adrift, disorientate,
Alien, in desperate
Spiritual loneliness,
Sought, in unceasing stress,
My hidden self, (half Celt
And half New England, child
Of hostile bloods, thus blent
And filled and fired and fused with passionate spate
Of Artist temperament,)
Fighting for outlet, baulked,
Baffled, long time I walked
Bemused, be-fogged, beguiled
By my own mental many-sidedness,
Seemingly purposeless.

So walking, gave excuse,
Pretext for that harsh sire
To hurl indignant ire
Impetuous forth, and fling
The name of nidering
Upon his first-born, bruise
His son in spirit, cast
Contempt on him before
His sisters who, spectators of such mire,
Came, in their turn, to pour
Satire and shame on him
Their brother, thus to dim
What light yet lived, to blast
His hopes, to silence song, to bid him be
Base mediocrity.

In foul discouragement
They mocked his speech, they fleered
His thought, they flouted, jeered
His deeds. Year-long, they wrought
Their best to bring to nought
That brother. Diligent
E'er to destroy, they dealt
Him devilish blows; they found
Delight in denigration, persevered,
Loved to turn knife in wound,
Not because they were bad
Themselves, but that they had
Weak man's example, wheeled
Within one fifth-rate orbit, trapp'd and ta'en,
Worshipped cheap charlatan.

They crushed, yet could not kill,
Some God stood strong to save
Their sire's sad serf, so drave
Him onward, saw him stand
Each hour less frail, expand,
Develop, climb the Hill
Difficulty, and come,
Shaken, to see the shore
Of Life's large Sea, choose, and within its wave
Plunge and press onward o'er
Oceans of Effort, hide
No more his talent, stride
Fresh shores, fling from him Home
Shackles, retrieving pre-appointed course,
Fight on with fierce, grim force.

Thus, serving secret flame
In fond fidelity
Of soul and spirit, he
Still struggled forward, found
Fresh doors swing wide, around
Him gather men whose aim,
As his, was high disdain
Of Thought at second-hand,
Of aught save fresh achievement ... came to be
One of that small, blest band
Of ceaseless seekers, grown
Contemptuous of their own
Shallow success, full fain
For further findings—fortunate few who live
Richly ... because they strive.

Strive not for pelf nor gain,
But, steadfast to the mark,
Lit as by inward spark,
Eyes on invisible goal,
Steer, guide past bank, through shoal,
Faithful and firm, a-main
Hand on the helm, heart high. ...
Who drive in glad unrest
The slight, storm-driven, tempest-beaten barque
Of their own being, blest
In seeking always, ne'er
Finding; foredoomed to fare
Strange seas, hunt hopefully
For that sweet haven, port of long desire
Towards which true souls suspire.

Know then, my Nephews, he
Who writes these words at least
Has ceaseless sought the best
In Beauty, Sport, Art, Song,
Sought these unflinching, long. ...
In fierce fidelity,
Fashioned his days to find
The finest at all cost,
Fought with strong passion to enlarge his mind,
Blazed his own trail, made quest
Of Truth his goal, athirst
For further knowledge, burst
Fresh bonds, fared tempest-tost,
Storm-driven and spume-spattered, o'er Life's seas. ...
In this found spirit's ease.

Found, likewise, lasting friends,
High, faithful few who turned
Instinctive towards him, burned—
Gen'rous—to help him gain
Spiritual freedom, reign
Lord of himself, seek ends
Ever more arduous, ache
Always for fresh horizons ... whose hearts yearned
To his own heart, would make
His joys, his sorrows, tears
And exultations theirs:
Eager in praise; of blame
Ungrudging—when of blame they knew the need—
Joyful to give just meed.

Found, likewise, loving hands—
At hour of need, eclipse—
Lend sustenance; found lips,
Loving no less, light, stay
On his own lips, turn grey
Hours glad, at Home, in lands
Afar; at first found fair
His like; amazed, at length
Came to discover links and comradeships
With countless souls; drew strength
From contact with all men
And women; came to glean
New knowledge everywhere;
Came to learn Life's last lesson ... that we have,
And hold, but what we gave.

Know, Nephews—more than all—
(Since one who hacks hard way
Forward, who, night and day,
Fights forth from Spiritual Night,
Seeks lost, elusive Light,
Pants for primordial
Talent and task, unites,
Combines all forces: bent
On secret aim, on single-soul'd essay
Increasingly intent,
With each inch of won ground
Must, all unconscious, wound
Others, inflict, bring slights. ...)
Know him at all times eager, face-to-face,
To meet, right wrongs, ask grace.

Know, if at this last stage,
(His Life's Eleventh Hour!)
It lay within his pow'r
To front your Mothers, meet
In quiet tête-a-tête
And honest embassage
Of reconcilement ... range
Old wrongs as past, make nought
Of present misconceptions, cleanse and scour
Palimpsest long inwrought
With wretched tales, with swart,
Black lies which keep apart
Kinsfolk, divide, estrange
Those of one blood, born from the common womb,
Once children in one Home. ...

Know—could such joy be-fall,
If brother, once so near
In soul and spirit, dear
To my sad heart to-day
No less than when, in play
And academical
Study, of old he stood
My pupil, oft-times asked
Help and encouragement (in rich relay
Joyfully given) and basked
In brother's love, became
Inspired through Love's fond Flame. ...
If he—if all my blood,
Those lied away long since—would front and meet
Me ... e'en now Life were sweet.

But know nor he nor they,
Your Mothers, (boys whose veins
Harbour my blood, whom chains
Of Prejudice hold fast,
Serfs to the Pestilent Past,
Part, now, of Present Day!),
Dare meet and front me, or learn
Truth from my lips, thus tear
Thick veil from misconception, face fresh pains
For Truth's fair sake, and bear
Brief, transient shame to free
Their souls for all time, see
Union re-built, re-bound,
No longer in enduring darkness stand,
Sad dupes of that Dead Hand.

Nor he, nor they, will face
Me. Oft, of innocence
Most conscious; of offence
Guiltless—full loth to go
Graveward and ne'er renew
Ancient affections—grace
I craved from them, and sought
One meeting; elsewise doomed
To fight with shadows, making my defence,
To dwell as one assumed
Unworthy of free speech,
Forbidden to beseech
Justice from those who wrought
The wrong, who, fearing facts, would burk all bout. ...
Consumed by secret doubt!

Boys of my blood—but whom
I ne'er have seen, shall see
Never—'twixt you and me,
Your kinsman, manifold
Gulfs, hideous, cruel, cold,
Must lurk till Crack of Doom. ...
Yet since not ours the crime,
Since we be victims, caught
In cunning net, once weaved of jealousy
By that old man, who sought
To sever us, lest veil
Be lifted, faithful tale
Be told in after time. ...
Lo! I the outcast, whom true men approve,
Send you God's truth, man's love.





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