Tesis doctoral self y modernidad. La poesia de david herbert lawrence

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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.

And every time, it is ships, it is ships,

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).

They are not dead, they are not dead!

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).


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.

And now that the moon who gives men glistening bodies

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).

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.

So now they come back ! Hark!

Har! The slow and shattering laughter of bearded men

with the slim waists of warriors, and the long feet

of moon-lit dancers.

Oh, and their faces are scarlet, like dolphin´s blood!

Lo! The loveliest is red all over, rippling vermillion

as he ripples upwards!

laughing in his black beard!

They are dancing! They return, as they went, dancing!

For the thing that is done without glowing as of god, vermilion,

were best not done at all.

How glistening red they are!

“DEMIURGE” (689)
They say that reality only exists in the spirit

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.
The mystery of creation is the divine urge of creation,

But it is a great urge, it is not a Mind….(690).

Imagine that any mind ever thought a red geranium!

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).
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 God?

Unless God has a body, how can he have a voice

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.

And becomes at last a clove carnation: Io ! that is god!

and becomes at last Helen, or Ninon…
There is no god

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.
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.

The man of Tyre went down to the sea

pondering, for he was Greek, that God is one and all one and ever more shall be so.

And a woman who had been washing clothes in the pool of rock

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).

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