Wintergarden
"The season’s anguish, crashing whirlwind, ice,
Have passed, and cleansed the trodden paths
That silent gardeners have strewn with ash.
The iron circles of the sky
Are worn away by tempest;
Yet in this garden there is no more strife:
The winter’s knife buried in the earth.
Pure music is the cry that tears
The birdless branches in the wind.
No blossom is reborn. The blue
Stare of the pond is blind.
And no one sees
A restless stranger through the morning stray
Across the sodden law, whose eyes
Are tired of weeping, in whose breast
A savage sun consumes its hidden day"
David Gascoyne
4 opmerkingen:
In 1964 Davis Gascoyne tried to break into the Elysee in Paris to see de Gaulle. Later in London he tried to break into Buckingham Palace. He did these things because he fell in a big way for the delusional world of speed. Here are some 1992 judgements on himself: "I became dissatisfied with Surrealism"; "The root cause of my mental breakdown was a severe and prolonged amphetamine addiction"; "I am a poet who wrote himself out when young and then went mad."
Toch een mooie tuin, he!
Hier schijnt de zon op de sneeuw.
"The Earth, Nature, Unconsciousness and Death. We are drawn down and back towards them in the Night. But there is a Vigil where the walker in the garden stands and wonders in the dark."
His wife, Judy Gascoyne, once was housekeeper to Bob and Sara Dylan and George Harrison at Forelands Farm.
This is how she met him:
"one of my favourite poems was called September Sun. I read it one afternoon in the hospital where I worked and one of the patients came up to me afterwards and said 'I wrote that', I put my hand on his shoulder and said 'Of course you did, dear'. Then of course when I got to know him I realised he had."
Een reactie posten