Little islands out at sea, on the horizon
keep suddenly showing a whitness, a flash and a furl, a hail
of something coming, ships a-sail from over the rim of the sea.
it is ships of Cnossos coming out, out of the morning end of the sea,
It is Aegean ships, and men with archaic pointed beards
coming out of the eastern end.
But it is far off foam.
And an ocean liner, going east, like a small beetle walking the edge
is leaving a long thread of darl smoke
like a bad smell).
Now that the sun, like a likon, licks his paws
and goes slowly down the hill:
now that the moon, who remembers, and only cares
that we should be lovely in the flesh, with bright, crescent feet,
pauses near the crest of the hill, climbing slowly, like a queen
Looking down on the lion as he retreats—…(687).
(de “MIDDLE OF THE WORLD”)
This sea will never die, neither will ever grow old
nor cease to be blue, nor in the dawn
cease ro lift up its hill
and let the slim black ship of Dionysos come sailing in
with grape-vines up the mast, and dolphis leaping.
What do I care if the smoking ships
of the P. & O. and the Orient Line and all the other stinkers
cross like clock-work the Minoan distance!
They only cross, the distance never changes.
Is in her exaltation, and can look down on the sun
I see descending from the ships at dawn
slim naked men from Cnossos, smiling the archaic smile
of those that will without fail come back again,
and kindling little fires upon the shores
and crouching, and speaking the music of lost languages…(688).
“FOR THE HEROES AFE DIPPED IN SCARLET” (688-689)
Before Plato told the great lie of ideals
men slimly went like fishes, and didn´t care.
They had long hair , like Samson,
and clean as arrows the sped at he mark
when the bow-cord twanged.
They knew it was no use knowing
their own nothingness:
For they were not nothing.
Har! The slow and shattering laughter of bearded men
with the slim waists of warriors, and the long feet
of moon-lit dancers.
Lo! The loveliest is red all over, rippling vermillion
as he ripples upwards!
laughing in his black beard!
For the thing that is done without glowing as of god, vermilion,
were best not done at all.
How glistening red they are!
that corporal existence is a kind of death
that pure being is bodiless
that the idea of the form precedes the form substantial.
But what nonsense it is !
as if any Mind could have imagined a lobster
dozing in the under-deeps, then reaching out a savage and iron claw!
Even the mind of God can only imagine
those things that have become themselves:
bodies and presences, here and now, creatures with a foothold in creation
even if it is only a lobster on tip-toe
Religion knows better than philosophy.
Religion knows that Jesus was never Jesus
till he was born from a womb, and ate soup and bread
and grew up, and became, in the wonder or creation, Jesus,
with a body and with needs, and a lovely spirit.
(de “THE WORK OF CREATION”)
The mystery of creation is the divine urge of creation,
But it is a great urge, it is not a Mind….(690).
As if the redness of a red granium could be anything but a sensual experience
and as if sensual experience coulg take place before there were any senses.… (690).
(de “BODILESS GOD”)
Everything that has beauty has a body, and is a body:
everything that has a being hasw being in the flesh::
and dreams are only drawn from the bodies that are.
and emotions, and desires, and strength, glory or honour?… (691).
God is the great urge that has not yet found a body
but urges towards incarnation with great creative urge.
apart from poppies and the flying fish,
men singing songs, and women brushing their hair in the sun.
The lovely things are god that has come to pass, like Jsesus came.
The rest, the undiscoverble, is the demi-urge.
“THE RAINBOW” (692)
Even the rainbow has a body
made of drizzling rain
and is an architecture of glistening atoms
built up, built up
yet you can´t lay your hand on it,
nay, nor even your mind.
pondering, for he was Greek, that God is one and all one and ever more shall be so.
where a stream came down to the gravel of the sea and sank in,
who had spread white wsahing on the gravel banked above the bay,
who had lain her shift on the shore, on the shingle slope
who had waded to the pale green sea of evening, out to a shoal,
pouring sea-water over herself
now turned, and came slowly back, with her back to the evening sky…. (692-693).