Senlin : A Biography

By Aiken, Conrad

Book Id: WPLBN0000707206
Format Type: PDF eBook
File Size: 138,984 KB.
Reproduction Date: 2007

Title:	Senlin : A Biography
Author:	Aiken, Conrad
Volume:
Language:	English
Subject:	Fiction, Poetry, Verse drama
Collections:	Poetry Collection
Historic Publication Date:
Publisher:	World Public Library Association


Citation APA MLA Chicago Aiken, C. (n.d.). Senlin : A Biography. Retrieved from http://self.gutenberg.org/

Description
Poetry

Excerpt
Excerpt: When the light drips through the shutters like the dew, // I arise, I face the sunrise, // And do the things my fathers learned to do. // Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops // Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die, // And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet // Stand before a glass and tie my tie. // Vine leaves tap my window, // Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, // The robin chips in the chinaberry tree // Repeating three clear tones. // It is morning. I stand by the mirror // And tie my tie once more. // While waves far off in a pale rose twilight // Crash on a white sand shore. // I stand by a mirror and comb my hair: // How small and white my face!- // The green earth tilts through a sphere of air // And bathes in a flame of space. // There are houses hanging above the stars // And stars hung under a sea... // And a sun far off in a shell of silence // Dapples my walls for me... // It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning // Should I not pause in the light to remember God? // Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable, // He is immense and lonely as a cloud. // I will dedicate this moment before my mirror // To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair. // Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence! // I will think of you as I descend the stair. // Vine leaves tap my window, // The snail-track shines on the stones, // Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree // Repeating two clear tones. // It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence, // Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep. // The walls are about me still as in the evening, // I am the same, and the same name still I keep. // The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion, // The stars pale silently in a coral sky. // In a whistling void I stand before my mirror, // Unconcerned, I tie my tie. // There are horses neighing on far-off hills // Tossing their long white manes, // And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk, // Their shoulders black with rains... // It is morning. I stand by the mirror // And surprise my soul once more; // The blue air rushes above my ceiling, // 2 // There are suns beneath my floor... // ...It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness // And depart on the winds of space for I know not where, // My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket, // And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair. // There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven, // And a god among the stars; and I will go // Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak // And humming a tune I know... // Vine-leaves tap at the window, // Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, // The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree // Repeating three clear tones. // 3 // I walk to my work, says Senlin, along a street // Superbly hung in space. // I lift these mortal stones, and with my trowel // I tap them into place. // But is god, perhaps, a giant who ties his tie // Grimacing before a colossal glass of sky? // These stones are heavy, these stones decay, // These stones are wet with rain, // I build them into a wall today, // Tomorrow they fall again. // Does god arise from a chaos of starless sleep, // Rise from the dark and stretch his arms and yawn; // And drowsily look from the window at his garden; // And rejoice at the dewdrop sparkeling on his lawn? // Does he remember, suddenly, with amazement, // The yesterday he left in sleep,-his name,- // Or the glittering street superbly hung in wind // Along which, in the dusk, he slowly came? // I devise new patterns for laying stones // And build a stronger wall. // One drop of rain astonishes me // And I let my trowel fall. // The flashing of leaves delights my eyes, // Blue air delights my face; // I will dedicate this stone to god // And tap it into its place. // 4 // That woman-did she try to attract my attention? // Is it true I saw her smile and nod? // She turned her head and smiled... was it for me? // It is better to think of work or god. // The clouds pile coldly above the houses // Slow wind revolves the leaves: // It begins to rain, and the first long drops // Are slantingly blown from eaves. // But it is true she tried to attract my attention! // 3 // She pressed a rose to her chin and smiled. // Her hand was white by the richness of her hair, // Her eyes were those of a child. // It is true she looked at me as if she liked me. // And turned away, afraid to look too long! // She watched me out of the corners of her eyes; // And, tapping time with fingers, hummed a song. // ...Nevertheless, I will think of work, // With a trowel in my hands; // Or the vague god who blows like clouds // Above these dripping lands... // But... is it sure she tried to attract my attention? // She leaned her elbow in a peculiar way // There in the crowded room... she touched my hand... // She must have known, and yet,-she let it stay. // Music of flesh! Music of root and sod! // Leaf touching leaf in the rain! // Impalpable clouds of red ascend, // Red clouds blow over my brain. // Did she await from me some sign of acceptance? // I smoothed my hair with a faltering hand. // I started a feeble smile, but the smile was frozen: // Perhaps, I thought, I misunderstood. // Is it to be conceived that I could attract her- // This dull and futile flesh attract such fire? // I,-with a trowel's dullness in hand and brain!- // Take on some godlike aspect, rouse desire? // Incredible!... delicious!... I will wear // A brighter color of tie, arranged with care, // I will delight in god as I comb my hair. // And the conquests of my bolder past return // Like strains of music, some lost tune // Recalled from youth and a happier time. // I take my sweetheart's arm in the dusk once more; // One more we climb // Up the forbidden stairway, // Under the flickering light, along the railing: // I catch her hand in the dark, we laugh once more, // I hear the rustle of silk, and follow swiftly, // And softly at last we close the door. // Yes, it is true that woman tried to attract me: // It is true she came out of time for me, // Came from the swirling and savage forest of earth, // The cruel eternity of the sea. // She parted the leaves of waves and rose from silence // Shining with secrets she did not know. // Music of dust! Music of web and web! // And I, bewildered, let her go. // I light my pipe. The flame is yellow, // Edged underneath with blue. // 4 // These thoughts are truer of god, perhaps, // Than thoughts of god are true. // 5 // It is noontime, Senlin says, and a street piano // Strikes sharply against the sunshine a harsh chord, // And the universe is suddenly agitated, // And pain to my heart goes glittering like a sword. // Do I imagine it? The dust is shaken, // The sunlight quivers, the brittle oak-leaves tremble. // The world, disturbed, conceals its agitation; // And I, too, will dissemble. // Yet it is sorrow has found my heart, // Sorrow for beauty, sorrow for death; // And pain twirls slowly among the trees. // The street-piano revolves its glittering music, // The sharp notes flash and dazzle and turn, // Memory's knives are in this sunlit silence, // They ripple and lazily burn. // The star on which my shadow falls is frightened,- // It does not move; my trowel taps a stone, // The sweet note wavers amid derisive music; // And I, in horror of sunlight, stand alone. // Do not recall my weakness, savage music! // Let the knives rest! // Impersonal, harsh, the music revolves and glitters, // And the notes like poniards pierce my breast. // And I remember the shadows of webs on stones, // And the sound or rain on withered grass, // And a sorrowful face that looked without illusions // At its image in the glass. // Do not recall my childhood, pitiless music! // The green blades flicker and gleam, // The red bee bends the clover, deeply humming; // In the blue sea above me lazily stream // Cloud upon thin-brown cloud, revolving, scattering; // The mulberry tree rakes heaven and drops its fruit; // Amazing sunlight sings in the opened vault // On dust and bones, and I am mute. // It is noon; the bells let fall soft flowers of sound. // They turn on the air, they shrink in the flare of noon. // It is night; and I lie alone, and watch through the window // The terrible ice-white emptiness of the moon. // Small bells, far off, spill jewels of sound like rain, // A long wind hurries them whirled and far, // A cloud creeps over the moon, my bed is darkened, // I hold my breath and watch a star. // Do not disturb my memories, heartless music! // I stand once more by a vine-dark moonlit wall, // The sound of my footsteps dies in a void of moonlight, // And I watch white jasmine fall. // 5 // Is it my heart that falls? Does earth itself // Drift, a white petal, down the sky? // One bell-note goes to the stars in the blue-white silence, // Solitary and mournful, a somnolent cry. // 6 // Death himself in the rain... death himself... // Death in the savage sunlight... skeletal death... // I hear the clack of his feet, // Clearly on stones, softly in dust; // He hurries among the trees // Whirling the leaves, tossing he hands from waves. // Listen! the immortal footsteps beat. // Death himself in the grass, death himself, // Gyrating invisibly in the sun, // Scatters the grass-blades, whips the wind, // Tears at boughs with malignant laughter: // On the long echoing air I hear him run. // Death himself in the dusk, gathering lilacs, // Breaking a white-fleshed bough, // Strewing purple on a cobwebbed lawn, // Dancing, dancing, // The long red sun-rays glancing // On flailing arms, skipping with hideous knees // Cavorting grotesque ecstasies: // I do not see him, but I see the lilacs fall, // I hear the scrape of knuckles against the wall, // The leaves are tossed and tremble where he plunges among them, // And I hear the sound of his breath, // Sharp and whistling, the rythm of death. // It is evening: the lights on a long street balance and sway. // In the purple ether they swing and silently sing, // The street is a gossamer swung in space, // And death himself in the wind comes dancing along it, // And the lights, like raindrops, tremble and swing. // Hurry, spider, and spread your glistening web, // For death approaches! // Hurry, rose, and open your heart to the bee, // For death approaches! // Maiden, let down your hair for the hands of your lover, // Comb it with moonlight and wreathe it with leaves, // For death approaches! // Death, huge in the star; small in the sand-grain; // Death himself in the rain, // Drawing the rain about him like a garment of jewels: // I hear the sound of his feet // On the stairs of the wind, in the sun, // In the forests of the sea... // Listen! the immortal footsteps beat! // 7 // It is noontime, Senlin says. The sky is brilliant // 6 // Above a green and dreaming hill. // I lay my trowel down. The pool is cloudless, // The grass, the wall, the peach-tree, all are still. // It appears to me that I am one with these: // A hill, upon whose back are a wall and trees. // It is noontime: all seems still // Upon this green and flowering hill. // Yet suddenly out of nowhere in the sky, // A cloud comes whirling, and flings // A lazily coiled vortex of shade on the hill. // It crosses the hill, and a bird in the peach-tree sings. // Amazing! Is there a change? // The hill seems somehow strange. // It is noontime. And in the tree // The leaves are delicately disturbed // Where the bird descends invisibly. // It is noontime. And in the pool // The sky is blue and cool. // Yet suddenly out of nowhere, // Something flings itself at the hill, // Tears with claws at the earth, // Lunges and hisses and softly recoils, // Crashing against the green. // The peach-tree braces itself, the pool is frightened, // The grass-blades quiver, the bird is still; // The wall silently struggles against the sunlight; // A terror stiffens the hill. // The trees turn rigidly, to face // Something that circles with slow pace: // The blue pool seems to shrink // From something that slides above its brink. // What struggle is this, ferocious and still- // What war in sunlight on this hill? // What is it creeping to dart // Like a knife-blade at my heart? // It is noontime, Senlin says, and all is tranquil: // The brilliant sky burns over a greenbright earth. // The peach-tree dreams in the sun, the wall is contented. // A bird in the peach-leaves, moving from sun to shadow, // Phrases again his unremembering mirth, // His lazily beautiful, foolish, mechanical mirth. // 8 // The pale blue gloom of evening comes // Among the phantom forests and walls // With a mournful and rythmic sound of drums. // My heart is disturbed with a sound of myriad throbbing, // Persuasive and sinister, near and far: // In the blue evening of my heart // I hear the thrum of the evening star. // My work is uncompleted; and yet I hurry,- // 7 // Hearing the whispered pulsing of those drums,- // To enter the luminous walls and woods of night. // It is the eternal mistress of the world // Who shakes these drums for my delight. // Listen! the drums of the leaves, the drums of the dust, // The delicious quivering of this air! // I will leave my work unfinished, and I will go // With ringing and certain step through the laughter of chaos // To the one small room in the void I know. // Yesterday it was there,- // Will I find it tonight once more when I climb the stair? // The drums of the street beat swift and soft: // In the blue evening of my heart // I hear the throb of the bridal star. // It weaves deliciously in my brain // A tyrannous melody of her: // Hands in sunlight, threads of rain // Against a weeping face that fades, // Snow on a blackened window-pane; // Fire, in a dusk of hair entangled; // Flesh, more delicate than fruit; // And a voice that searches quivering nerves // For a string to mute. // My life is uncompleted: and yet I hurry // Among the tinkling forests and walls of evening // To a certain fragrant room. // Who is it that dances there, to a beating of drums, // While stars on a grey sea bud and bloom? // She stands at the top of the stair, // With the lamplight on her hair. // I will walk through the snarling of streams of space // And climb the long steps carved from wind // And rise once more towards her face. // Listen! the drums of the drowsy trees // Beating our nuptial ecstasies! // Music spins from the heart of silence // And twirls me softly upon the air: // It takes my hand and whispers to me: // It draws the web of the moonlight down. // There are hands, it says, as cool as snow, // The hands of the Venus of the sea; // There are waves of sound in a mermaid-cave;- // Come-then-come with me! // The flesh of the sea-rose new and cool, // The wavering image of her who comes // At dusk by a blue sea-pool. // Whispers upon the haunted air- // Whisper of foam-white arm and thigh; // And a shower of delicate lights blown down // Fro the laughing sky!... // 8 // Music spins from a far-off room. // Do you remember,-it seems to say,- // The mouth that smiled, beneath your mouth, // And kissed you... yesterday? // It is your own flesh waits for you. // Come! you are incomplete!... // The drums of the universe once more // Morosely beat. // It is the harlot of the world // Who clashes the leaves like ghostly drums // And disturbs the solitude of my heart // As evening comes! // I leave my work once more and walk // Along a street that sways in the wind. // I leave these stones, and walk once more // Along infinity's shore. // I climb the golden-laddered stair; // Among the stars in the void I climb: // I ascend the golden-laddered hair // Of the harlot-queen of time: // She laughs from a window in the sky, // Her white arms downward reach to me! // We are the universe that spins // In a dim ethereal sea. // 9 // It is evening, Senlin says, and in the evening // The throbbing of drums has languidly died away. // Forest and sea are still. We breathe in silence // And strive to say the things flesh cannot say. // The soulless wind falls slowly about the earth // And finds no rest. // The lover stares at the setting star,-the wakeful lover // Who finds no peace on his lover's breast. // The snare of desire that bound us in is broken; // Softly, in sorrow, we draw apart, and see, // Far off, the beauty we thought our flesh had captured,- // The star we longed to be but could not be. // Come back! We will laugh once more at the words we said! // We say them slowly again, but the words are dead. // Come back beloved!... The blue void falls between, // We cry to each other: alone; unknown; unseen. // We are the grains of sand that run and rustle // In the dry wind, // We are the grains of sand who thought ourselves // Immortal. // You touch my hand, time bears you away,- // An alien star for whom I have no word. // What are the meaningless things you say? // I answer you, but am not heard. // It is evening, Senlin says; // 9 // And a dream in ruin falls. // Once more we turn in pain, bewildered, // Among our finite walls: // The walls we built ourselves with patient hands; // For the god who sealed a question in our flesh. // 10 // It is moonlight. Alone in the silence // I ascend my stairs once more, // While waves, remote in a pale blue starlight, // Crash on a white sand shore. // It is moonlight. The garden is silent. // I stand in my room alone. // Across my wall, from the far-off moon, // A rain of fire is thrown... // There are houses hanging above the stars, // And stars hung under a sea: // And a wind from the long blue vault of time // Waves my curtain for me... // I wait in the dark once more, // Swung between space and space: // Before my mirror I lift my hands // And face my remembered face. // Is it I who stand in a question here, // Asking to know my name?... // It is I, yet I know not whither I go, // Nor why, nor whence I came. // It is I, who awoke at dawn // And arose and descended the stair, // Conceiving a god in the eye of the sun,- // In a woman's hands and hair. // It is I whose flesh is gray with the stones // I builded into a wall: // With a mournful melody in my brain // Of a tune I cannot recall... // There are roses to kiss: and mouths to kiss; // And the sharp-pained shadow of death. // I remember a rain-drop on my cheek,- // A wind like a fragrant breath... // And the star I laugh on tilts through heaven; // And the heavens are dark and steep... // I will forget these things once more // In the silence of sleep. // Conrad Aiken...