Taken on Illinois St. outside of Fremont (home to a wild weekend brunch party) in the Gold Coast, Chicago on Sunday, March, 4, 2018.
nascent promise before new dawn fades but was any thing ever real in the long parade of important days in the history of the world
xymphora @xymphora
The Pharaoh has murdered too many protesters for the people to leave with the nothing he has offered them. xymphora @xymphora
Today and tomorrow will be important days in the history of the world.
xymphora @xymphora
Hosni wants more protests.
xymphora @xymphora
What happened to Hosni's speech?
xymphora @xymphora
Big fires at big buildings but not a hint of firefighters.
xymphora @xymphora
There's a big fire at Mubarak's party's headquarters.
xymphora @xymphora
The Pharaoh is going to broadcast to the nation. Better be good.
From Junkets on a Sad Planet: Premonitory (Teignmouth, Spring 1818)
Landscape with Aeneas at Delos: Claude Lorrain, 1672 (National Gallery, London)
Mariners don’t think about the deeps too much.
The canvas of my reverie: maritime,
With promontory, cave, and little antique
Town that’s emptied for a sacrifice.
A boat tacks round the cove and disappears
Into my mind’s eye, where the scene plays over
And over: a small town beside an immense sea,
A white sail tacks around the promontory.
Mariners don’t think too much about the deeps,
Poets were once thought premonitory.
The canvas of my reverie is
Maritime, with a promontory, a town:
The town has emptied for a sacrifice.
The canvas of my reverie: maritime,
With promontory, cave, and little antique
Town that’s emptied for a sacrifice.
A boat tacks round the cove and disappears
Into my mind’s eye, where the scene plays over
And over: a small town beside an immense sea,
A white sail tacks around the promontory.
Mariners don’t think too much about the deeps,
Poets were once thought premonitory.
The canvas of my reverie is
Maritime, with a promontory, a town:
The town has emptied for a sacrifice.
I close my eyes, but the same scene plays over:
Above the victim’s head the priest suspends
A blade, light plays cleanly upon bronze,
The sun beats down, the confused heifer lows,
The pipe shrills, the bright libation flows,
Those of the faithful with weak nerves look away,
The blue paint splashed beneath a glowing sky
Bleeds across the harbor to the bobbing skiff
Whose white sail shows above the green head cliff,
Moves round the point, and seems to freeze in time
The unison hymn of sailors who forget
All that they know but their songs’ chiming,
Chanting as we did when poetry was young,
Trying not to think too much about the deeps,
Our fear of death, and this abandoned town
Which itself has lost all memory of
The qualities of life vacated when we die.
A blade, light plays cleanly upon bronze,
The sun beats down, the confused heifer lows,
The pipe shrills, the bright libation flows,
Those of the faithful with weak nerves look away,
The blue paint splashed beneath a glowing sky
Bleeds across the harbor to the bobbing skiff
Whose white sail shows above the green head cliff,
Moves round the point, and seems to freeze in time
The unison hymn of sailors who forget
All that they know but their songs’ chiming,
Chanting as we did when poetry was young,
Trying not to think too much about the deeps,
Our fear of death, and this abandoned town
Which itself has lost all memory of
The qualities of life vacated when we die.
Tom Clark: Premonitory (Teignmouth, Spring 1818), from Junkets on a Sad Planet: Scenes From the Life of John Keats (1994)
Clark's promontory - The Parson and Clerk: image via Teignmouth in Verse
Joy Division: New Dawn Fades (live)
ReplyDeleteFairport Convention: A Sailor's Life, from Unhalfbricking (1969)
"Premonitory"----beautiful poem, Tom.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much, tpw, you lovely man.
ReplyDeletetpw said it for me, but just to say it again, beautiful poem, for which we give thanks
ReplyDeleteFor friends like these, I give thanks.
ReplyDelete