New verse/Eliot
Printed
Death by Water
Master, teacher, Eliot knows
Knows how one might adore
Sailing on a well made ship,
Embarking from a distant shore.
Release the hounds!
Let the hunt begin!
See how they run, leap and bound!
Hi ho, hi ho, tantivy!
The winds blow hot
The winds blow cold
Through the seas
In my ship I go
Hi ho, hi ho tantivy.
I shake and tremble
I’ve grown too old.
To lead the hunt
Requires the bold.
Hi ho, hi ho, tantivy!
In the midst of a very fierce sea
Chaos rises under me;
Sailing o’er the deep abyss
Dying for one holy kiss.
The timber torn from the side of the ship,
Floating on the dangerous waves,
Forms a pattern of damp crossed staves—
Enough, perhaps, to save a man adrift?
The water’s deep
Quite deeper than you’d think;
Trust one who’s walking—
You won’t sink.
Hi ho, hi ho, tantivy!
For the winds blow high,
And the winds blow cold
But I’m not brave
And down I go!
No more hi ho tantivy.
And if I drowned. And if I drowned
Will these old bones rise again?
Take me to a distant shore
Where conversation’s not a bore?
“Time for a séance,” someone said.
“Turn out the lights; call forth the dead!”
“One rap for yes; two raps for no;
Take my hand and don’t let go!”
“Why Mr. S you don’t look well
Light the candle if you’ve come through Hell;
Did you see my brother there,
Brown sports coat and slicked down hair?”
“Madam, I was promised bliss
Up from the deep and a holy kiss.
What land is this where I’ve arrived?
People not buzzing like bees in a hive?”
“How in the hell can a drowned man thrive?
Here? In this strange dry sandy land?
Life is hard, only one thing changes;
See how the seabird her nest arranges!”
“Ten steps back; turn and fire!”
“Dombey and Sons is looking to hire.”
“What do you see in a grain of sand?
Will you see it in every hard land?”
See that figure walking towards us?
Is that a halo about her head?
She looks like one of the newly raised dead!
See! She is the promise of bliss.
Teacher, master, Eliot knows
The beauty of the multifoliate rose;
Knows the stillness of the silent Word,
Often spoken, seldom heard.
Msc.
Now I’m left without a sail;
Nothing to see but a rusty old nail…
Don’t be angry, don’t be cross;
Nothing’s real but profit and loss.
Image: Adam and Eve [and Satan as serpent]. By Giovanni Della Robbia. C. 1515. [Walters Art Museum. Baltimore]
