The Glebe 1913/09 (Vol. 1, No. 1): Songs, Sighs and Curses

The Proem

I sing and sigh and also curse, Thus only can I give expression To that which will not brook repression; I am alive, I have a voice, And so I sing and sigh and curse-- All life doth sing and sigh and curse.

The joy of love is in my song, I sigh for pleasures yet untasted-- For things I dream--o'er moments wasted And sometimes interrupt my song With clenched fist to curse a wrong-- It is a joy to curse a wrong.

And so I sing and sigh and curse-- All life doth sing and sigh and curse.

Captives

I visited the Zoo one dreary day, And in the lion's house I watched a lion, A great Numidian lion in his cage, With eyes three-quarters closed, with haughty gait, Pace up and down the limits of his cage.

Was he oblivious of the tyrant bars, The gaze of human eyes, his captive state, And did he blink but better thus to see The jungle's vast expanse?

He suddenly stood still; and, face to face, We stood and stared into each other's eyes, And we each saw in one another's eyes A royal captive in a wretched cage.

If I Were God

If I were God--the first thing I would do Would be to make all women beautiful.-- All women beautiful--and all men strong. Then I'd resign--and make myself a man. That's just what I would do--if I were God.

Optimism

On that cold table, where shameless, without blushing They spread their nakedness, I see what yesterday had been a living beauty And is to-day a corpse-- A flimsy mass of tissues and of juices, The prey of autopsy to-day, To-morrow prey of worms and dissolution. And whilst the perfume of this lifeless flower, Concoction made of chemicals and death, Inflicts an outrage on my sense of odor, Does disenchantment fill me with disgust? Does Death's black wing engulf me in its shadow? And being face to face with life's fragility Am I made sick of life? I am not sick of life. I prize life more knowing how brief it is, How insecure, how fragile and how fleeting. I love the eyes bright with the spark of life, I love them more knowing they'll soon be dimmed. I love the lips aglow with warmth of life, I love them more because they'll soon be cold. I love all flesh that palpitates with life, I love it more knowing it soon shall be An inert, flimsy mass of fetid tissue. I love the voice that rings with sounds of life, I love it more knowing 'twill soon be silent. I love the mind pregnant with living thought, I love it more knowing that soon 'twill be The tomb of thought. I therefore let the dead bury their dead, And like a buzzing bee in quest of flowers I seek the flowers of life that gladly yield The sap that love distills to joy--that joy That is much sweeter than the sweetest honey.

The Cloud

There hovers over me a muddy cloud, Enveloping me in its gloomy shadow, That dims the native sunshine of my heart, That dulls the keen perception of the mind, That stunts the latent powers of the soul, That smothers all the rising flames of hope, That cowes the wings of genius that would soar.

I am forever followed by this cloud, I can't escape, I cannot flee this cloud, This muddy, gloomy, hell-begotten cloud-- The dollar sign is traced upon this cloud!

The Liberty I Loathe

I am at large, can go this way and that, No dungeon walls, no prison bars say halt, When roving fancies seize upon my feet.

But am I free? Can I be truly free When that which lives within me is repressed, When my true self in vain from deep within Doth clamor for the right of self-expression?

What hideous mockery of freedom this! Put me in jail, put me in jail for life, Let bread and water be my only fare, Make rats and spiders my associates.

But have the light into my dungeon pour From overhead and give me clay, Oh, give me lots of clay--the tender flesh, The oily, tender flesh of mother earth,

Responsive as a mistress to the touch, And I will have a feast no king e'er knew, And taste of pleasures that the gods would envy. And I will make unto myself a world,

A world of which myself would be the God, A world in which my every dream and thought, My every feeling and my every passion Would find embodiment in plastic form.

Oh, for a prison where I could be free!

For the Exodus from the Land of Bondage-- And I behold with my prophetic eyes God's chosen people crossing the Red Sea; The workers of the world, God's chosen people, Are crossing the Red Sea of Revolution. And I behold the Industrial Commonwealth, The Promised Land of plenty and of peace, Where each one, under his own fig-tree seated, Shall sing his praises to the Lord of Life.

The Toilers

Crouching they cling like vermin to the earth And with their bleeding fingers scrape the earth But for a little dust, their sustenance, A little dust mixed with the sweat of brow, The blood of fingers and the tears of pain.

'Tis not for them the sun shines gloriously, The flowers bloom, the fruit hangs on the tree, 'Tis not for them the birds and poets sing, Or lovely women smile.

They have to crouch and cling and sweat and scrape But for a little dust--their sustenance.

Paneroticism

I love all women's smiling eyes, I love all women's tempting lips, I love all women's loving hearts, I love all women's tender skin, I love all women's glowing flesh, I love all women's weakness, I love all women's strength. I love! I love! I love!

Aphrodite

I've seen a Venus not of marble carved By some great sculptor's hand in ancient Greece, Unearthed in a mutilated state By archaeologists in quest of ruins And pedestaled in temple of fine art.

The Venus I have seen was made of flesh, Of ordinary, living, human flesh, More beautiful than statue e'er could be. She stands behind a counter in a store From morning until night dispensing wares-- A living Venus at five dollars per.

The Tyranny of Rhyme

Inane coquette, depart from me, Thou siren known as Muse of rhyme, Thou fain wouldst make thy slave of me, To give thee all my thought, my time, And all the love that's in my heart, I know thee well, depart! depart!

I love a nobler Muse than thee, She's simple, free, intense, sublime, Her rhythm has sweeter melody Than e'er could have thy wanton rhyme. I gave to Rhythm my soul, my heart, O Muse of Rhyme, depart! depart!

Life seems a sky to me, all human beings Rotating in their orbits are as stars. Some are obscure and some are luminous, Some give the light and warmth to solar systems, Some shed on lovers' heads soft lunar light. Some, like the comets, cosmic vagabonds, Are ever tramping the sidereal roads, And others, myriad-massed in endless stretches, Compose the glory of the Milky Way.

I look at life as an astrologer Believing in the influence of stars, Their influences evil, beneficial. Perplexed I ponder o'er the laws mysterious That govern all the movements of the stars. And I am troubled in my inmost being At the appearance of a new-found star As on the threshold of a mystery. There hove into my sphere a new-found star Of primal magnitude, magnificent, Whose magnetism most irrestistibly Attracts me to itself.

Am I to be the happy satellite Of this fair human sun whose smile or frown Could make me be a fertile Earth or Moon, A fertile Earth or frozen, barren Moon? Oh, will it just continue in its course, Rotating in its orbit and recede, Recede, recede, and leave me far behind Obscure and cold and sad and all alone?...

Oscar Wilde

The work was done. The spirit-moulders of immortal souls Wiped from their brows the sweat and washed their hands, And standing by, in full contentment gazed Upon their wondrous work.

A masterpiece! it was a masterpiece! A genius to be born unto the world, One more to swell that galaxy of stars That makes the cosmic bosom swell with pride. Another inextinguishable star To scintillate throughout eternity.

The angels stood, heads bowed in reverence Before what was to be the poet Wilde, And as they stood, these proud progenitors, In blissful contemplation of their child, There fell upon them, as a shadow cast By purple clouds upon a limpid lake, A sadness that no human voice could tell.

Forebodings of the suffering of Wilde Depressed them so that, kneeling down, they wept. They wept over the dire humiliation Awaiting him who is the pride of God, And over man's stupidity they wept-- The colossal stupidity of man.

Imperialism

With one great gesture of my love-mad arms Would that I could embrace the entire world, The entire world of love-inspiring women.

With one unending pressure of my lips I wish that I could kiss the entire world, The entire world of love-inspiring women.