The other day at work, I came across a gorgeous 1928 edition of poems by Thomas Hardy. This collection, a mossy-green cloth bound beauty with golden letterings, had been inscribed and (wittily) annotated by a certain Charles Malam. Having done some sleuthing, I've found that Mr. Malam was a poet himself, most famous for his quip "Steam Shovel," and, if this singular source is to be believed, that he must have read this Hardy collection while on his Rhodes scholarship.
Malam had also written a poem on the inside back cover of the book. Despite searches on the internet, I can't seem to find any evidence of it ever having been published (albeit I confess my search was by no means thorough), and since it seemed tragic that the poem be lost again forever, I typed it out.
Tree Down by Wind
No longer leaves and birds, but laughter, filled
the twisted boughs that had worn summer's crown,
And girls plaited pigtails hanging down
played hide-and-seek among the branches, shrilled
and chanted. Men might question what had spilled
the giant in the night, men from the town
spitting upon their handle to grasp the brown
smooth axe-belt. Youth forgot what had been killed.
And yet, whatever has fulfilled its days
could have no better echo than the shout
of youth busy with play to carry out
into the murky indeterminate haze
of silence, youth forgetting in its mirth
the ponderous solemnity of earth.
Christ Church Meadows
Oxford, Nov. 26th, 1928
3:30 in the afternoon
Sunlight
Charles Malam
(I love that detail, "3:30 in the afternoon-- sunlight")
