A proposed anthology of free verse.
speak as of going beyond a certain time, a train of events
which have arisen out of circumstances quite foreign to
corporeal ailments. We touch upon themes of body, death,
memory, and love – the corporality of the celestial – to
seek that which possesses or obsesses the mind, and can
exert power transmitted through the motive and sentient
spinal nerves, here occasioning a little smarting of the
This anthology contains the remains
of those substances which existed in the world, and can be
remembered as past, or imagined on some other occasion,
where the mind does not regain its balance. And it must be
some fatal error that causes a rapid descent
– love must fall upon someone deprived of all
salutary control, or the memory of a life that was
calculated to exist in heaven.
It may be taken for granted that there is no
honourable way out of the most atrocious poetry called
‘contemporary’. There appears a most deplorable
union of publishers (litty-fiddlers) and everyday
banality, and after this customary stupefaction no
robbery, murder, or other heinous crime is too good
We are all men of strange truth, and we recognise it as
Neatly arranged in
line and look, A little ball of clay
drawn down by
celestial, differed so far in shape and bloom
In all kinds of heat,
ready to animate the sparkling eye,
Gilded inside, colour
The ground of all its
glory, becoming fuller, and softer,
In sympathy with the
womb, more open and spacious,
And bleeds when
Not a drop extracted,
though blaze with azure and emerald.
More strange than any
other motions, ovarian and spinal,
Seminated as garnet,
Driven by a momentary
impulse, loosely but symmetrically,
Force conceived to act
as to produce a deadly artifice:
No pain, no
respiration. None would be blessed.
No rain falls between
The skin of the blonde
stroked with a feather,
Before midnight, when
I am brought locally
from heaven, a vein of glistening white
Sparingly dissipated in
the midst of a womb, all woven in one root.
And nothing more
constant are the beings whose many arms do
Spread more suddenly
than others, and seem to be in continual motion:
Whereupon the images
are seen at first, and not to be adored.
Afterwards oftener than
once I grew hot with it:
A penetrating gold that
seemed capable of bearing pain.
And in such cases as
broken ribs and other injuries,
I may shake myself
free, for I incline to the opinion
That light is a body.
considerations it may be manifest that there is no
Distinction between the
body and its accidents. I may be settled
Deep within, and all
manner of forms shall be companions to the man.
Those things that come
will declare the truth, that by such measures
They should revive
again and restore the pledge of eternal life.
I do possess those
accidents and movements of another life.
Death in a Coming
Death is not easily
detected, and is apt to be overlooked.
It is not a friend that
men have been made aware of, being
Of a more rare and
subtle substance. It cannot be in many
Places at once, and
consequently it might be immense.
An appearance of this
kind implies a knowledge of the relative
Situation of delayed
death, a most common affliction presenting
Mere physical changes
with very little alteration of sentiment.
It is not indispensably
necessary to attend to its development.
One may indulge a
morbid form of curiosity, by some wondrous
Change of the
circulation, and the actors, of the most beautiful
And varied forms, are
seen to lie in a helpless manner. The arteries
Of the foetus are very
slender, and not contorted as in the human.
This is perfectly
finished. The sense of pain and touch is wholly lost.
It is enough to make
the words true.
Here is the rooted vine
planted out in the low pits, not infested,
Not observable of any
sexual form of multiplication.
The object drawn by eye
has no breadth of being:
I declare things
enabled, no sex discovered in the
Extremity of the
abdomen, no foetal heart heard.
Every incipient dread
shall be revealed.
All else is fume.
The transient, only
like moving shapes, to be imagined
And not allowed to
waken. And if they are deformed and suck
Upon the breast, they
will go back and recall no other life.
The spirits who living
entirely upon dreams, seem to be gathered,
That we may suspect the
existence of another child.
This day his body
becomes one, and there are others
Who witnessed the same
– a dead man that lives by hope,
And draws light out of
things, safely kept in the miserable earth.
A mind most like to
disease. Yet he cannot die that lives by breath,
Reposed in the infinite
and eternal beauty,
That never went so near
the scenes of earth.
How often, in dim
shadow, when the extreme hour
Touches all around,
does splendour overspread the living form?
Time and space could
not appear to that advantage that would
Command shop-women who
seem asleep and neglected, while
Nothing is required of
them, no future eternal home,
No accident of any
In this abyss, being
A spirit confesses
secrets to a dying man,
And he who fancied
himself near palls away.
No creature of man, no
friend so dear as to be glad.
The animals in their
spheres have risen out of the earth –
There they will abide,
neither dimmed nor worn out,
Fastened together in
the imitations of their world.
Before the human female
appeared, perfumed with sweet things,
The last metamorphosis
(so often before named as resurrection) took place:
A being existing here
only temporarily, a vestige of terrestrial breath
So far withdrawn from
original nature, seeking the place below, but still
Subservient to human
pleasures, to those above, and to the divine.
The creature has the
characteristics of both sexes, nebulae and rare,
And gives origin to the
female organ, the nature of flowers,
And the everlasting of
semen upon the prolific earth.
The worms and brutes
sing praises to God,
And the creature having
leisure takes an interest in itself,
And demands particular
attention, and is not at all perplexed
By the amatory life;
which by a kind of habit produce ova.
Heaven might appear the
more transcendent, coalescing soft,
Rather rare, a
smooth-faced animal of a very promising
Appearance equal to
that of the finest classic outline.
Yet the unchanging
picture is a visionary dream,
An involuntary act that
What the female
furnishes is not thus alive,
Except by accident, and
is essentially immortal.
Spirit of the air, who
dies faintly away, there is scarcely a memory.
No bond of association
required in the first movement to take away
A part from the rest,
to draw the breath that goes out of the womb,
And only admits of
momentary duration. A change of habit,
As if unconscious:
dresses dreaming, and made perfect as the first day.
The husky skin touched
with the naked hand, hair curling beautifully.
An unblemished revival
passed over time, and would pass through space –
A single shock, pressed
into the opening, excited and moved by itself,
A slightly luminous
flame that came from heaven.
Now the whole mystery
revealed to me, unknowingly
Yet surely, passing
from death to life on the new earth.
The apparition waking
out of sleep – gold and silver –
The spinneret on the
soft membrane, the drop hanging below,
First called a
chrysalis, laid singularly upon the human frame.
Loose hair and skin
covered with a piece of muslin;
The life carried away,
swept into the open extremity.
And from the
all-pervading law seen then to return,
Void of all perceptible
heat – the arms wide open,
Close the fingers up,
and so I made a thought endowed
With endless life. And
from the mere organism of matter
Reduced to immortality
– “You are that boy,”
And slipped my hand