Page 9 - July 2021 Litterateur
P. 9

WESTERN RAMBLINGS







                                       DISCOVERING JOAN MURRAY (1917-1942)


                                                The son of Calliope must go down to Hades




                    Old Man who punt the Acheron, what is Hades like?

                               Orpheus, speaking to Charon,
                    For Night and Day converge so in my mind,
                               In language I recognize,

                    The one’s decay and weed and spawn of all that men dislike,
                               Death the fate of one I cherished,

                    The other’s light and flourish, strong and somewhat kind.
                               I too, Calliope’s son,

                    I am unable to think of direct end or direct beginning.
                               Descend

                    The weird kernel of the I stands sexless and devoid,
                               Beyond the I, binding us to illusion
                    Mere energy that lives from self, unloved, unsinning,

                               And to the weave of good and bad
                    The end of all that living once enjoyed.

                               We wear as we wear clothing.



                    Charon: In sleep we disarrange the day.
                    Awake we try to give arrangement to that sleep…



                    The fact cannot be out-faced of being and not being,
                    Of moving and not moving; that which we know remains forever knowable.

                    The strong are a flavor and a textural feeling;
                    Theirs is the bravery of the titillating and obscure

                    To hold themselves abruptly in high air and spin:
                    The purity of wind and straining sail and unalterably pure,
                    The span of a man or the inevitable eon,

                    Finally and roundly sings the Whole in its all-designing conscience:
                    One man awake, the others still below; one man to stir and yawn,

                    To stamp the calm and turbulence of World with delicate defiance.



                    When you have reached your destination,
                    Found the sharp even avenues, the sound of leaves,

                    Noises infinitely quieter than pacing insects,
                    When you have touched upon the end and destiny of grief,
                    Along those paths neither shining, subtle, void, nor tranquil,

                    You must lean through all your warmed perceptions to grasp that shade:
                    You will know that it possesses hands though you see no hand:

                    You will know that it is as a woman should be, walking and not weak.                                      09
                    Turn abruptly. Do not look about. Do not stare from side to side.                               Litterateur
                                                                                                                         REDEFINING WORLD
                    We are lonely for your singing, Orpheus…                                                           EDITED BY SHAJIL ANTHRU
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