tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7587842796867542781.post6988933223755989283..comments2024-03-26T14:04:31.836-05:00Comments on EBL: The Doors: The EndEvi L. Bloggerladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00371362907839227149noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7587842796867542781.post-33729560704084374092012-12-21T00:12:24.972-06:002012-12-21T00:12:24.972-06:00A favorite poem; note the use of the oyster metaph...A favorite poem; note the use of the oyster metaphor:<br /><br /><b>Death's Echo</b><br /><br /><i>"O who can ever gaze his fill,"<br />Farmer and fisherman say,<br />"On native shore and local hill,<br />Grudge aching limb or callus on the hand?<br />Father, grandfather stood upon this land,<br />And here the pilgrims from our loins will stand."<br />So farmer and fisherman say<br />In their fortunate hey-day:<br />But Death's low answer drifts across<br />Empty catch or harvest loss<br />Or an unlucky May.<br />The earth is an oyster with nothing inside it,<br />Not to be born is the best for man;<br />The end of toil is a bailiff's order,<br />Throw down the mattock and dance while you can.<br /><br />"O life's too short for friends who share,"<br />Travellers think in their hearts,<br />"The city's common bed, the air,<br />The mountain bivouac and the bathing beach,<br />Where incidents draw every day from each<br />Memorable gesture and witty speech."<br />So travellers think in their hearts,<br />Till malice or circumstance parts<br />Them from their constant humour:<br />And slyly Death's coercive rumour<br />In that moment starts.<br />A friend is the old old tale of Narcissus,<br />Not to be born is the best for man;<br />An active partner in something disgraceful,<br />Change your partner, dance while you can.<br /><br />"O stretch your hands across the sea,"<br />The impassioned lover cries,<br />"Stretch them towards your harm and me.<br />Our grass is green, and sensual our brief bed,<br />The stream sings at its foot, and at its head<br />The mild and vegetarian beasts are fed."<br />So the impassioned lover cries<br />Till the storm of pleasure dies:<br />From the bedpost and the rocks<br />Death's enticing echo mocks,<br />And his voice replies.<br />The greater the love, the more false to its object,<br />Not to be born is the best for man;<br />After the kiss comes the impulse to throttle,<br />Break the embraces, dance while you can.<br /><br />"I see the guilty world forgiven,"<br />Dreamer and drunkard sing,<br />"The ladders let down out of heaven,<br />The laurel springing from the martyr's blood,<br />The children skipping where the weeper stood,<br />The lovers natural and the beasts all good."<br />So dreamer and drunkard sing<br />Till day their sobriety bring:<br />Parrotwise with Death's reply<br />From whelping fear and nesting lie,<br />Woods and their echoes ring.<br />The desires of the heart are as crooked as corkscrews,<br />Not to be born is the best for man;<br />The second-best is a formal order,<br />The dance's pattern; dance while you can.<br /><br />Dance, dancefor the figure is easy,<br />The tune is catching and will not stop;<br />Dance till the stars come down from the rafters;<br />Dance, dance, dance till you drop.</i><br /><br />WH Auden (1936)<br />chickelithttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10773887469972534979noreply@blogger.com