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For Poetry Monday, another McKay, okay? -- 'kay:
Subway Wind, Claude McKay
Far down, down through the city’s great gaunt gut
The gray train rushing bears the weary wind;
In the packed cars the fans the crowd’s breath cut,
Leaving the sick and heavy air behind.
And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door
To give their summer jackets to the breeze;
Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar
Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas;
Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift
Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep,
Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift
Lightly among the islands of the deep;
Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white
That led their perfume to the tropic sea,
Where fields lie idle in the dew-drenched night,
And the Trades float above them fresh and free.
---L.
Subject quote from The Ballad of Dead Men's Bay, Algernon Swinburne.
Subway Wind, Claude McKay
Far down, down through the city’s great gaunt gut
The gray train rushing bears the weary wind;
In the packed cars the fans the crowd’s breath cut,
Leaving the sick and heavy air behind.
And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door
To give their summer jackets to the breeze;
Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar
Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas;
Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift
Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep,
Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift
Lightly among the islands of the deep;
Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white
That led their perfume to the tropic sea,
Where fields lie idle in the dew-drenched night,
And the Trades float above them fresh and free.
---L.
Subject quote from The Ballad of Dead Men's Bay, Algernon Swinburne.
no subject
Date: 4 November 2019 03:53 pm (UTC)In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne,
I shoop me in shroudes as I a shepe were,
In habite as an heremite unholy of werkes,
Wente wide in this world wondres to here.
Ac on a May morwenynge on Malverne hilles
Me bifel a ferly, of Fairye me thoghte.
I was wery forwandred and wente me to reste
Under a brood bank by a bourne syde;
And as I lay and lenede and loked on the watres,
I slombred into a slepyng, it sweyed so murye.
Thanne gan I meten a merveillous swevene -
That I was in a wildernesse, wiste I nevere where.
People who write like this have a lot to answer for in my own work!
no subject
Date: 4 November 2019 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 4 November 2019 06:59 pm (UTC)Aw.
no subject
Date: 4 November 2019 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 4 November 2019 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 5 November 2019 03:00 pm (UTC)