Georgian Poetry 1911-1912 — Reading Companion

There was a voice that fleered upon the king: 'This is the man who makes much of himself For filling the common eyes with palaces Gorgeously bragging out his royalty: Whereas he hath not one that seemeth not In work, in height, in posture on the ground, A hut, a peasant's dingy shed, to mine. And all his excellent woods, metals, and stones, The things he's filched out of the earth's old pockets And hoised up into walls and domes; the gold, Ebony, agate stairs, wainscots of jade, The windows of jargoon, and heavenly lofts Of marble, all the stuff he takes to be wealth, Reckons like savage mud and wattle against The matter of my building.'--And the king, Gloating upon the white sheen of that palace, And weeping like a girl ashamed, inquired 'What is that stone?' And the voice answered him, 'Soul.' 'But in my palaces too,' said he, 'There should be soul built: I have driven nations, What with quarrying, what with craning, down To death, and sure their souls stay in my work.' And 'Mud and wattle' sneered the voice again; But added, 'In the west there is a man, A slave, a carpenter, whose heart has been Apprenticed to the skill that built my reign, This beauty; and were he master of your gangs, He'ld build you a palace that would look like mine.'-- So now no ship may sail from India, Since the king's scornful dream, unless it bring A carpenter among its homeward lading: And carpenters are getting hard to find.

And have none made for the king his desire?

Many have tried, with roasting living men In queer huge kilns, and other sleights, to found A glass of human souls; and others seek With marvellous stone to please our desperate king. Always at last their own tormented bodies Delight the cruelty of the king's heart.

Well then, I hope you'll find your carpenter, And soon. I would not that we wait too long; I loathe a dallying journey.--I should suppose We'ld have good sailing at this season, now?

Why, you were looking, a few minutes gone, For rare wild storms: I hope we'll have them too; I want to see you work that talisman You boast about: I've a great love for spells.

Let it be storm or calm, so we be sailing. I long have wished to voyage into mid sea, To give my senses rest from wondering On this perplexed grammar of the land Written in men and women, the strange trees, Herbs, and those things so like to souls, the beasts. My wilful senses will keep perilously Employed with these my brain, and weary it Still to be asking. But on the high seas Such throng'd reality is left behind,-- Only vast air and water, and the hue That always seems like special news of God. Surely 'tis half way to eternity To go where only size and colour live; And I could purify my mind from all Worldly amazement by imagining Beyond my senses into God's great Heaven, If I were in mid sea. I have dreamed of this. Wondrous too, I think, to sail at night, While shoals of moonlight flickers dance beside, Like swimming glee of fishes scaled in gold, Curvetting in thwart bounds over the swell; The perceiving flesh, in bliss of such a beauty, Must sure feel fine as spiritual sight.-- Moods have been on me, too, when I would be Sailing recklessly through wild darkness, where Gigantic whispers of a harassed sea Fill the whole world of air, and I stand up To breast the danger of the loosen'd sky, And feel my immortality like music,-- Yea, I alone in the broken world, firm things All gone to monstrous flurry, knowing myself An indestructible word spoken by God.-- This is a small, small boat?

Captain: Small is nothing, A bucket will do, so it know how to ride Top upward: cleverness is the thing in boats. And I wish this were cleverer: she goes crank At times just when she should go sober. But what? Boats are but girls for whimsies: men Must let them have their freaks.

Thomas: Have you good skill In seamanship?

Captain: Well, I am not drowned yet, Though I'm a grey man and have been at sea Longer than you've been walking. My old sight Can tell Mizar from Alcor still.

Thomas: Ay, so; Doubtless you'll bring me safe to India. But being there--tell me now of the land: How use they strangers there?