deepundergroundpoetry.com

in which i briefly consider a career as a forger of Thomas Chatterton poems

�...Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.�
- � � �Thomas Chatterton, �AElla, a Tragical Interlude

.

the sun was gleaming in middle of black night, �
and the heart thinks....
the heart say...it is much too early for these capers; alas the heart
testifies nothing of import.

& O staunch not, noble Son, my strange blood!
that yearns only to see beyond,
beyond...beyond...
the dirt trench of my body-song;
�
for azure is the sky, stretched without end in sight,
and witless the eye, indeed,
which witnesses blithely, Indeed.

Better, me thinks, to bump your head on the clouds and receive
the whole Sierra wide,
in all her majestic daybreak sheen,
imagined, dreamed, or otherwise.

What Perfection of arms! �
What Gasp your Shoulders know!
What hands too perfect to hold,
Such hopes as these, too real or too bold.

What questions! �What Choices Oh!
To be bolted safe in place for all these livelong days,
or else to be dissolved with thee,
in the sun's white ray and cease to be?

O but Brothers, Brothers oh !
There was a time, there was a place!
In which I knelt so low,
and nuzzled against her fair breast and more;
and muttered incomprehensible love, �
poetry ripped from body and soul;

and sighed such oaths!
triumphant in dawn and twilight's thaw �

from all corners in like manner,
to shine such lanterns of amour upon the world;
and O such charms of the face & flesh as only fine demons know!

But Cupid foul, �
HOW I was distressed by such conviction!
Though still I ask now, �who, of love, can resist?
And whom might be so strong as to behold
Such beauty and chemistry divine
and turn 'way their human eyes?

But then, no, but then!
Sweetness in sorrows! �and multitudes of solitudes
didst thou impart upon my deceived self!

here your restlessness has haunted these halls I walk,
where tempests blow ash-clouds upon the soul,
stripped of sentiment, sensation and more,

these low sediments of my loneliness which whirl
in the wicked wind and widening dark
of dire-nightfall without end.

tie it off quickly! quickly friends!
Make hurried amends!
& might we swing in love again!
with tongues that would talk sense to the wind !
And kind arms to replace the claws of ice I've made,
that drive us staggeringly insane
down stairwells and alleyways of harsh blame!

O Synthesis of this reckless burning, �ye apostate me,
a raging captive upon your daisied bed, �
to count the blossoms which fall away

for what has been loosed will not undo, I dare do say,
and once again we know the fall from such a state
haplessly from such a height and recall just so :

heart breaks back breaks neck breaks heart and all.

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