Selected Poems of Hilda Doolittle

by Hilda Doolittle

beat his sails flat,

  shift a wave sideways

  that he suffocate.

  O you waves,

  run counter to his oars,

  waft him to blistering shores,

  where he may die of thirst.

  O you skies,

  send rain

  to wash salt from my eyes,

  and witness all earth and heaven,

  it was of my heart-blood

  his sails were woven;

  witness, river and sea and land;

  you, you must hear me man is a devil,

  man will not understand.

  ODYSSEUS (on the sea) She gave me fresh water in an

  earth-jar,

  strange fruits

  to quench thirst,

  a golden zither

  to work magic on the water;

  she gave me wine in a cup

  and white wine in a crystal shell;

  she gave me water and salt,

  wrapped in a palm leaf

  and palm-dates:

  she gave me wool and a pelt of

  fur,

  she gave me a pelt of silver-fox,

  and a brown soft skin ofa bear,

  she gave me an ivory comb for

  my hair,

  she washed brine and mud from

  my body,

  and cool hands

  held balm

  for a rust-wound;

  she gave me water

  and fruit in a basket,

  and shallow

  baskets of pulse and grain, and

  a ball

  of hemp

  for mending the sail;

  she gave me a willow basket

  for letting into the shallows

  for eels;

  she gave me peace in her cave.

  CALYPSO (from land) He has gone,

  he has forgotten;

  he took my lute and my shell of

  crystal —

  he never looked back —

  ODYSSEUS (on the sea) She gave me a wooden flute,

  and a mantle,

  she wove of this wool —

  CALYPSO (from land) -for man is a brute and a fool.

  The Dancer

  I

  I came far,

  you came far,

  both from strange cities,

  I from the west,

  you from the east;

  but distance can not mar

  nor deter

  meeting, when fire meets

  ice or ice

  fire;

  which is which?

  either is either;

  you are a witch,

  you rise out of nowhere,

  the boards you tread on,

  are transferred

  to Asia Minor;

  you come from some walled town,

  you bring its sorcery with you;

  I am a priestess,

  I am a priest;

  you are a priest,

  you are a priestess;

  I am a devotee of Hecate,

  crouched by a deep jar

  that contains herb,

  pulse and white-bean,

  red-bean and unknown small leek-stalk and grass blade;

  I worship nature,

  you are nature.

  II

  I worship art;

  I am now from the city

  of thinkers, of wisdom-makers,

  and I watch as one come from afar

  in a silver robe;

  I carry no wine-jar;

  I watch intent,

  as one outside with whom is the answer;

  intelligence alert,

  I am here to report,

  to say this is

  or is not

  God;

  I am perfectly aware,

  perfectly cold;

  a girl clutches her lover’s wrist,

  I do not care,

  (I am perfectly aware of what you are doing,

  of what seeds you are sowing)

  I know what this youth thinks,

  what nerve throbs in that old man,

  how that wan soldier

  back from the last war,

  feels healing, electric, in a clear bar,

  where an arm should be;

  nothing is hidden

  from me;

  if you make one false move,

  I will slay you;

  I hate and have no fear,

  you can not betray me,

  you can not betray us,

  not the Sun,

  who is your Lord;

  for you are abstract,

  making no mistake,

  slurring no word

  in the rhythm you make,

  the poem,

  writ in the air.

  III

  Fair,

  fair,

  fair,

  do we deserve beauty?

  pure,

  pure

  fire,

  do we dare

  follow desire

  where you show

  perfection?

  loveliest,

  O strong,

  ember

  burns in ice,

  snow folds over ember;

  fire flashes through clear ice,

  pattern frozen is red-rose,

  rhododendrons bend under full snow,

  yet each flower retains colour;

  the rhododendrons are in flower

  and snow covers

  the flame heat

  of purple,

  of crimson,

  of dark-blue,

  of pale-blue,

  of white

  crystal

  calyx;

  miracle,

  miracle of beauty returned to us,

  the sun

  born in a woman.

  IV

  We are more than human,

  following your flame,

  O woman;

  we are more than fire,

  following your controlled

  vibrance;

  we are more than ice,

  listening to the slow

  beat of our hearts,

  like under-current of sap in a flowering tree,

  covered with late snow;

  we are more than we know.

  V

  Give us the strength to follow,

  the power to hallow

  beauty;

  you are wind in a stark tree,

  you are the stark tree unbent,

  you are a strung bow,

  you are an arrow,

  another arrow;

  your feet fling their arrows,

  your twin arrows,

  you then pulse into one flame;

  O luminous,

  your feet melt into folded wing,

  to mer-maid’s tail;

  O love in the circle

  of opening,

  of closing,

  of opening;

  you are every colour of butterfly,

  now in a frail robe, you are a white butterfly;

  burning with white fervour,

  you are moon-flower,

  seen in water.

  VI

  You are every flower,

  I can not stop to name;

  nor do I claim

  precedence among the harp-players;

  my song-note falters;

  I claim no precedence among the flute-players,

  for I could not maintain

  presence enough to stand,

  there at your feet

  with the rest,

  making that music;

  I can not name

  the Doric nor the Ionic

  measure,

  nor claim greatness;

  I have gained

  no laurel

  at Delphi;

  but he,

  your Father,

  burning sun-lover

  has yet had his jest,

  has said, among all these

  there is one voice,


  one councillor;

  listen,

  Rhodocleia,

  he says;

  “dance for the world is dead,

  dance for you are my mistress,

  you are my stylus,

  you write in the air with this foot,

  with that foot,

  with this arrow;

  your flung hand

  is that pointed arrow,

  your taut frame

  is one arrow,

  my message;

  you are my arrow,

  my flame;

  I have sent you into the world;

  beside you,

  men may name

  no other;

  you will never die;

  nor this one,

  whom you see not,

  sitting, sullen and silent,

  this poet.”

  VII

  O let us never meet, my love,

  let us never clasp hands

  as man and woman,

  as woman and man,

  as woman and woman,

  as man and man;

  O let us never speak, my love,

  let us never utter

  words less than my heart-beat,

  words less than your throbbing feet;

  white cygnet,

  black missel-thrush,

  let us never crush

  breast to breast,

  let us never rush

  purple to purple fire,

  wide flowers,

  crushed under the glory

  of god in the whirl-wind,

  of god in the torrent;

  O chaste Aphrodite,

  let us be wild and free,

  let us retain integrity,

  intensity,

  taut as the bow,

  the Pythian strings

  to slay sorrow.

  VIII

  There is much to know

  and little time,

  O bright arrow;

  there are many to heal

  and few to feel

  the majesty

  of our King;

  there is little to know

  and all eternity,

  O my sister;

  there is no hurry,

  no haste,

  no waste,

  only leisure;

  infinite leisure

  to proclaim

  harmony,

  our Master.

  IX

  So haste not,

  bright meteor;

  waste not strength,

  O fair planet,

  singing-sister;

  move delicate strength,

  pause,

  never-weary pallor;

  gather blue corn-flowers,

  bind poppies in your hair,

  O Priestess;

  teach men

  that the sun-disk

  is bearable,

  and his ardour;

  dare further,

  stare with me

  into the face of Death,

  and say,

  Love is stronger.

  X

  Rhodocleia,

  rhododendron,

  sway, pause, turn again;

  rhododendron,

  O wide rose,

  open, quiver, pause

  and close;

  rhododendron,

  O strong tree,

  sway and bend

  and speak to me;

  utter words

  that I may

  take

  wax

  and cut upon my tablets

  words to make men pause

  and cry

  rhododendron

  to the sky;

  words that men may pause

  and kneel,

  broken

  by this pulse we feel;

  rhododendron,

  laurel-tree,

  sway, pause,

  answer me;

  you who fled your Lord and Sire,

  till he pulsed to such desire

  that no woman ever

  could

  after,

  bear his sacred brood;

  only singing fools and deft

  trees

  might speak

  his prophecies.

  XI

  Rhododendron,

  O wild-wood,

  let no serpent

  with drawn hood,

  enter,

  know the world we know;

  rhododendron,

  O white snow,

  let no mortal ever know

  mysteries

  within the fold

  of purple

  and of rose

  and gold

  cluster

  of this sacred tree;

  rhododendron,

  swear to me,

  by his mountain,

  by his stream,

  none shall mar

  the Pythian dream.

  XII

  We will build an altar here,

  swear by wood, by hill, by star,

  swear by wind, by curve of bay

  where his leaping dolphins lay,

  singing to the priests, on high

  build the altar

  let life die,

  but his song shall never die.

  XIII

  Leap as sea-fish

  from the water,

  toss your arms as fins,

  dive under;

  where the flute-note

  sings of men,

  leaving home

  and following dream,

  bid men follow

  as we follow;

  as the harp-note tells of steel,

  strung to bear immortal peril,

  (pleasure such as gods may feel)

  bid men feel

  as we feel.

  The Master

  I

  He was very beautiful,

  the old man,

  and I knew wisdom,

  I found measureless truth

  in his words,

  his command

  was final;

  (how did he understand?)

  when I travelled to Miletus

  to get wisdom,

  I left all else behind,

  I fasted,

  I worked late,

  rose early;

  whether I wore simple garments

  or intricate

  nothing was lost,

  each vestment had meaning,

  “every gesture is wisdom,”

  he taught;

  “nothing is lost,”

  he said;

  I went late to bed

  or early,

  I caught the dream

  and rose dreaming,

  and we wrought philosophy on the dream content,

  I was content;

  nothing was lost

  for God is all

  and the dream is God;

  only to us,

  to us

  is small wisdom,

  but great enough

  to know God everywhere;

  O he was fair,

  even when I flung his words in his teeth,

  he said,

  “I will soon be dead

  I must learn from the young”;

  his tyranny was absolute,

  for I had to love him then,

  I had to recognise that he was beyond all-men,

  nearer to God

  (he was so old)

  I had to claim

  pardon,

  which he granted

  with his old head

  so wise,

  so beautiful

  with his mouth so young

  and his eyes —

  O God,

  let there be some surprise in heaven for him,

  for no one but you could devise

  anything suitable

  for him,

  so beautiful.

  II

  I don’t know what to suggest,

  I can hardly suggest thing
s to God

  who with a nod

  says, “rise Olympos,

  sink into the sea

  O Pelion,

  Ossa,

  be still”;

  I do not know what to say to God,

  for the hills

  answer his nod,

  and the sea

  when he tells his daughter,

  white Mother

  of green

  leaves

  and green rills

  and silver,

  to still

  tempest

  or send peace

  and surcease of peril

  when a mountain has spit fire:

  I did not know how to differentiate

  between volcanic desire,

  anemones like embers

  and purple fire

  of violets

  like red heat,

  and the cold

  silver

  of her feet:

  I had two loves separate;

  God who loves all mountains,

  alone knew why

  and understood

  and told the old man

  to explain

  the impossible,

  which he did.

  III

  What can God give the old man,

  who made this possible?

  for a woman

  breathes fire

  and is cold,

  a woman sheds snow from ankles

  and is warm;

  white heat

  melts into snow-flake

  and violets

  turn to pure amethysts,

  water-clear:

  no,

  I did not falter,

  I saw the whole miracle,

  I knew that the old man made this tenable,

  but how could he have foreseen

  the impossible?

  how could he have known

  how each gesture of this dancer

  would be hieratic?

  words were scrawled on papyrus,

  words were written most carefully,

  each word was separate

  yet each word led to another word,

  and the whole made a rhythm

  in the air,

  till now unguessed at,

  unknown.

  IV

  I was angry at the old man,

  I wanted an answer,

  a neat answer,

  when I argued and said, “well, tell me,

  you will soon be dead,

  the secret lies with you,”

  he said,

  “you are a poet”;

  I do not wish to be treated like a child, a weakling,

  so I said,

  (I was angry)

  “you can not last forever,

  the fire of wisdom dies with you,

  I have travelled far to Miletus,

  you can not stay long now with us,

  I came for an answer”;

  I was angry with the old man

  with his talk of the man-strength,