@3I place myself a problem, look for light. Darkness yet deepens. Steadfast, still, I probe For knowledge ... till upon my aching sight Flashes illumination. I disrobe Truth ... see her naked, stellar in the Night Of Ignorance. Come these pictures, to engrain And etch themselves upon my questing brain.@1 A woman, dark of hair, Dower'd with grey-blue eyes, Sits at a piano whose sweet cadences Mirror the minds of Beethoven, Mozart, Whose rhythm reaches inward, to ensnare And blood the unborn boy she bears, to Art: He, while her fingers flicker o'er the keys, Absorbs, unknowing, exquisite melodies Which flood his nascent being, bind and band Him closer to his Mother than the common run, And—with accursèd, yet thrice blessèd, brand— Enrol her scarce-formed son Amid that élite, that few Predestined to renew Themselves, in phoenix-wise, perpetually, To find fresh life in death, So long as they draw breath, To be, unceasingly, Disciple, devotee, Of Beauty ... fated, all the years they live, Filled with fierce, passionate intensity, To suffer, love and strive. A little, loving boy Sits and, adoring, sees His mother's fingers flicker o'er the keys. ... Watches, what time that small suburban room Becomes a blessed Paradise, where joy Abounds, a beauteous land where bud and bloom Exquisite emotions, infinite ecstasies That thrill his heart, excite, and yet appease, Soothe, too, and stir, unite and marry his soul To hers who bore him, see him reach a state Exalted, glimpse at goal Mysterious, roseate, Uncomprehended, rare ... As one who walks on air He seems. Some fierce and potent fire ignites Within his being, incites Him towards strange, beaconing Heights. ... Then two sweet syllables bring Him back to Earth: "Jack, sing!" Says a soft voice. In swift obedience, he Responds—and henceforth, finding fresh delights, Sings ... all involuntary. A loving, luckless child Of four years, later, finds Himself—by cruel circumstance, which binds Them, first, more close—flung from his little throne, Ruthlessly handled, hatefully exiled, Adrift in spirit, tragically alone. ... For lo! His Father, sent, a space, to Spain On some official mission, comes back, fain, Uxorious; sees the couple grown too close To please his ever-jealous heart, and so, Impetuous, impassioned and morose, Sets out to overthrow That sweet communion Between the mother and son ... Reared in some strange, abnormal and intense Outworn New England sense Of wife's obedience, The woman feels that she Must, miserably, be Guilty of spiritual adultery. ... So sets aside the boy with huge, immense Effort ... yet finally. Blooded to beauty, bound Apprentice unto Art, Hungry for Love; his e'er-unresting heart Hunting unfound affection; sad of soul He walks, (his deep, immedicable wound Cicatrised superficially, his dole Concealed), aloof in hugger-mugger home, Where half-a-dozen other children come To hold their brother alien, see him crushed, Jeered at and japed at, beaten ruthlessly, Locked in his bedroom, battered, broken, brushed Aside by him they rate In their small vision, as great, God-like, inviolate: Him whom their mother obeys, Adores ... devoting days, Weeks, years, hours, minutes all unquestioningly. ... So that the eldest (he Someday to find, as fee, Women and men, outstanding on this Earth, His friends and helpers) seems to them to be Nidering, nothing worth. Yet one brief, cherished hour— One goodly moment known, Oasis exquisite, incomparable and alone— Emerges, unforgettable, vital, quick And vivid: strong to stand superior To Time: indeed tremendous as some trick Forced from Fate's hand, and destined to remain For all time seared and burned on boyish brain. ... A child of five (happy incredibly, The nurse sent out with his small sister,) sits Once more, adoring, at his mother's knee, Worshipping while she knits, Or cunningly contrives Him cardboard knives Which open and shut. ... Sweet, old-time intimacy Returns, unites and binds Them close, while nursery blinds, Drawn-down, conventional, For neighbour's funeral, Give outer darkness, inner light, bring Peace, Afford the tyrant-ridden son sweet, temporary, Un-tellable heart's ease. Hour of untold delight, Still crystal-clear to-day, Yet all-illusive, born but to betray: Offspring of Chance, Convention and Demise, False, fugitive dawn, transformed full swift to night, Come, cruel and deceptive, to chastise The child whose heart, already over-long Silent, had ached to express its love in Song. ... Song and the impulse died, then—or at least, Sank back inhibited, baffled, into deep And dark recesses of that boyish breast, As it seemed, in mortal sleep. ... To hapless him, thus thrust Hell-wards, protective crust Accrued and came at Nature's instancy: Hardened his heart, he sought, In strife, in school, in sport, To play the man, forget, Expunge and overset, As morbid urge, his impulse towards Art: Striving to be as other men ... inevitably, A man aloof, apart. Thus through the world he went, Walking his hungry way, Looking for Love with strenuous essay, Striving to find, re-capture and renew Happy, lost hours, industrious to foment Emotions of old-time—authentic, true Fires which, though flickering sometimes into flame, Flared but to die and, dying swift, became Chill on his heart's cold hearthstone. Onward yet He hied, impassioned huntsman, in mad chase, Or stopped and stooped, to grasp at handkerchief Flung him or else let fall. Knew fresh regret, But gained some further grief, Though, once, he seemed to find Her among womankind He sought. A slender space sang ardently, Then found his hope mirage. ... So ceased from pilgrimage, Filled with the sad presage That Song no more would come To be poured forth by him in ecstasy. ... Him destined, doomed and dumb. Search thus relinquished, lo! Capricious Fate, unasked, Relented and, incredibly, unmasked A girl so gracious his enchanted eyes Saw her as exquisite intaglio, Held her scarce human, Goddess in disguise, The woman of his dreams, the secret choice And vision of lean Years. Liquid, her voice Dissolved his soul—as by some spell removed All inhibitions, righted wrongs. O'er-long Mute and un-musical, he sudden proved Impulse once more to Song. ... So sang and sang again, Sang still, and yet stayed fain To sing, (Song pouring forth unceasingly, Full fast as spate or flood In Spring-time's lustihood), Seemed, singing, thus to be Boy, back at Mother's knee. ... Yet man who has found his long-lost course at length, Man who adores, who worships: firm and free To love ... with man's whole strength. @3I placed myself a problem, looked for Light. Darkness yet deepened. Steadfast, still I probed For knowledge ... till upon my aching sight Flashed swift illumination. I disrobed Truth ... saw her naked, stellar in the Night Of Ignorance. Came these pictures, to engrain And etch themselves upon my thrice-blest brain.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF A BABY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET QUESTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON GIANT RED WOMAN by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 30 by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: LILLI ALM by EDGAR LEE MASTERS LEAVES OF A MAGAZINE by MARIANNE MOORE |