Discover Top Posts Tagged with #dunstan thompson

Popular Recent

— Dunstan Thompson: “On a Crucifix”

#dunstan thompson #poetry #concrete poetry

The end of love is that the heart is still

As the rose no wind distresses, still as light

On the unmoved grass, or as the humming bird

Poised the pure moment by an act of will

Dunstan Thompson

#Dunstan Thompson #quote #poem #poetry

unfinished poetry from my zine - ‘i never finish anything’

despite neither being at all refined or complete, i feel quite proud of both of these fragments, having genuinely not written poetry since primary school (apart from dumb limericks and nonsense) i would love any pointers, or additions, if i might be so lucky

#edward brittain #dunstan thompson #poetry #both need some mildly obscure historical context #esp 2 #also i take not credit for the opening of 2 #that is the work of the darling dunstan thompson #whom that poem is for

Poem

Eros, his plumes bedraggled by the snow, Came on me walking through the frozen park.

‘Well met,’ he said, ‘the day is dying now,

So we shall talk together in the dark.’

But there was light enough to see his face,

Those eyes of ice, that mouth impassioned stone,

The whole expressionless, as though a place

Where happiness and suffering were not known.

Dunstan Thompson

#Dunstan Thompson #poem #poetry

“This life, this death, to be met with everywhere, In the street, the bar, the bedroom, on this page, Which the dangerous stranger, or my best friend Who looking from his picture seems to implore A little courage, may not always allege Against me by the poet’s trembling hand; This life, this death, to be met with everywhere, I know now to be my good hope and not despair.

The lonesome midnight, the more lonely dawn, When the lost last chance stands gibbering, a poor Wretched fake made from my untidy clothes And shadows over the bed and the green moon Light, false, or the pale sunlight, false, and the pure Temptation, untinged by grace, for laurel wreathes; The lonesome midnight, the more lonely dawn, These times I need rejoice and never mourn.

Among the mocks, the mirrors, murder books, Where youth is spent, the runner lost his race, And age, a waning passion for the truth, Sets up his half-way house beside the lakes But far below the mountains, so no ice Ever reflects a blood rose or a death; Among the mocks, the mirrors, murder books, I may raise up the angels from the crooks.

In dreams by day or night, in dreams, in dreams, When the unlocked furies spring, and the heart Gives up its ghost, and there is no way out From the maze of tunnels, the hotel in flames, The free falling elevator, or the court Of hanging justice, and it is always too late; In dreams by day or night, in dreams, in dreams, I am never let alone and the fear only seems.

The one last terrible gesture forgives, Whether the world watches or not, for the clock Tells more than time to those who go from home; So the absent friend for whom this poem grieves Held at farewell in my past of futures, and with His hand made me the present of his name. The one last terrible gesture forgives This life, this death. And childlike the poet loves.”

— Dunstan Thompson: "This Life, This Death"

#dunstan thompson #poetry #the romance of orthodoxy

This life, this death, to be met with everywhere,

I know now to be my good hope and not despair.

— Dunstan Thompson

#dunstan thompson #poetry #the romance of orthodoxy

Over the river, sleeping, sleep your dreams,

Where heir apparent or presumptive seems

Already king to Nibelung, gold dwarf,

Mock maiden, and the jewel box knave at hearts,

Each standing on the beach, each on the wharf

To wave farewell to you, whose birdboat starts

Rising from submarine savannahed dreams,

O as the mermaid is the merman seems.

From Water Music by Dunstan Thompson

#Dunstan Thompson #poem #poetry

Working on Happiness with hope in our hearts and a song in our stitching. In 1953, while living in Germany, my mother began creating a remarkable book. She called it…...