The Project Gutenberg EBook of Argonaut and Juggernaut, by Osbert Sitwell This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Argonaut and Juggernaut Author: Osbert Sitwell Release Date: February 11, 2020 [EBook #61368] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARGONAUT AND JUGGERNAUT *** Produced by Al Haines Argonaut and Juggernaut BY OSBERT SITWELL LONDON Chatto & Windus 1919 All rights reserved TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT ROSS My thanks are due to Messrs. Blackwell for permission to reprint certain poems which first appeared in the anthology "Wheels," and to the editors of The Times, the Nation, Art and Letters, the Cambridge Magazine, Everyman, Colour, New Paths, and Poetry and Drama (New Series), for allowing me to reprint various poems which first appeared in their columns. Several of the war verses at the end of this volume first appeared in the Nation under the signature "Miles." "HOW SHALL WE RISE TO GREET THE DAWN?" How shall we rise to greet the dawn? Not timidly, With a hand above our eyes, But greet the strong light Joyfully; Nor will we mistake the dawn For the mid-day. We must create and fashion a new God— A God of power, of beauty, and of strength— Created painfully, cruelly, Labouring from the revulsion of men's minds. It is not that the money-changers Ply their trade Within the sacred places; But that the old God Has made the Stock Exchange his Temple. We must drive him from it. Why should we tinker with clay feet? We will fashion A perfect unity Of precious metals. Let us tear the paper moon From its empty dome. Let us see the world with young eyes. Let us harness the waves to make power, And in so doing, Seek not to spoil their rolling freedom, But to endow The soiled and straining cities With the same splendour of strength. We will not be afraid, Tho' the golden geese cackle in the Capitol, In fear That their eggs may be placed In an incubator. Continually they cackle thus— These venerable birds— Crying, "Those whom the Gods love Die young," Or something of that sort. But we will see that they live And prosper. Let us prune the tree of language Of its dead fruit. Let us melt up the clichés Into molten metal; Fashion weapons that will scald and flay; Let us curb this eternal humour And become witty. Let us dig up the dragon's teeth From this fertile soil; Swiftly, Before they fructify; Let us give them as medicine To the writhing monster itself. We must create and fashion a new God— A God of power, of beauty, and of strength; Created painfully, cruelly, Labouring from the revulsion of men's minds. Cast down the idols of a thousand years, Crush them to dust Beneath the dancing rhythm of our feet. Oh! let us dance upon the weak and cruel: We must create and fashion a new God. November, 1918. CONTENTS PREFACE POEM "How shall We rise to Greet the Dawn?" BOOK I: THE PHOENIX-FEASTERS PART I Prelude The Silence of God Adventure Dusk Sailor-Song The Dance Why should a Sailor ride the Sea? PART II Cornucopia Song Prospect Road BOOK II: GREEN-FLY War Horses Church-Parade At the House of Mrs. Kinfoot Green-fly De Luxe BOOK III: PROMENADES Nocturne Lament of the Mole Catcher The Beginning The End Fountains Song of the Fauns "A Sculptor's Cruelty" Pierrot Old Night From Carcassonne Progress Return of the Prodigal London Squares Tears Clavichords Promenades Clown Pondi Lausiac Theme Metamorphosis The Gipsy Queen Black Mass Pierrot at the War Spring Hours BOOK IV: WAR POEMS "Therefore is the Name of it called Babel" Twentieth-Century Harlequinade This Generation Sheep-Song The Poet's Lament Judas and the Profiteer Rhapsode The Modern Abraham The Trap The Eternal Club Heaven The Blind Pedlar Hymn to Moloch Armchair Ragtime Peace Celebration The Next War BOOK I THE PHOENIX-FEASTERS To EDITH THE PHOENIX-FEASTERS PART I PRELUDE We have wandered through the dim valleys of sleep —That lie so still and far— Have bathed in the lakes of silence, Where each star Shines brighter than its own reflection in the heavens; Where, diving deep, My soul has sought to catch and keep The silver feathers of the moon That float like down upon the waters, In whose pale rest We find Forgetfulness of death That comes so soon —Waters that lull the mind With some sweet breath Of wind, of flowers, With summer showers of rain, Or quicken it with recreative pain. We have fled further from this leaden cage, Seeking those rainbow forests, Where the light Thrills through you, shaking, fainting, with delight; Where sway tall luminous trees Wind-swept in one vast flashing harmony, That like a wave Splashes its seething sound And then envelops you. We have strayed to other places, Courts of fear, That stretch like echoes through the endless dusk Drenched with dead memories; Like musk They cling about you In a heavy cloud. Each shadow-sound we hear Clutches the heart. With fevered hands we tear The terror-pulsing walls —Fight our way out —Out Into other Courts As vague and full of fear. And we have found the proud and distant palaces of night. THE SILENCE OF GOD One night upon the southern sea In helpless calm we lay, Waiting for day, Waiting for day. As goldripe fruit fall from a tree A comet fell; no other sight, But in the ocean tracks of light Trembled—then passed away, Away. No sound broke on our waiting ears, Though instinct whispered wayward fears Of things we cannot tell— Of things the sea could tell. No wisp of wind, no watery sound Reached us; as if high on the ground We stayed. A sense of fever fell Upon each mind, Each soul and mind. Until our eyes, that ever sought The cloying empty darkness, find Another shape—or is it wrought Of terror?—on the deep The endless deep. All dark it lay. No light shone out; And though we cried across, no shout Came back to us. As if in sleep The black bulk lay so still, So still. No sign came back; no answering cry Cleft the immense monotony That swathed us like a funeral pall, In folds of menace; almost shrill The silence seemed, And we so small. Swiftly a boat was lowered down; The rowlocks creaked; our track shone white Behind us like God's frown, God's frown. We clambered up that great ship's height; There was no light; there was no sound; Nor was there any being found Upon that ship, That ship. We groped our way along. God knows How long the rats had been alone With dust and rust! Yet flight was shown To have been instant, in the grip Of some force stronger than its foes —Its human foes. * * * * * Then sudden from the dark there thrilled The distant dying of a song That hung like haze upon the sea, and filled Each soul with joy and terror strong, With joy and terror strong. Upon the sombre air were spent These notes, as from a hidden place Where all time and all love lay pent In lingering embrace— In lingering embrace. Deep in our hearts we felt the call; We knew that if our fate should send That song again, we must leave all And follow to the end, The end. ADVENTURE Down through the torrid seas we swept, Sails curved like bows about to shoot. As an arrow speeds through the air Our ship parted the clinging waters. Then, out of the ocean Blossomed a distant land. * * * * * The air quivered, Dancing above it In a frenzy of passion. Waves of heat trembled towards us Across the cool lassitude of the ocean. They rolled new odours at us, Sounding the chords of hidden senses, Till we were alert With minds as sensitive and taut As resined strings. The sea itself Crouched down behind us, Urging us on, Driving us on, To unknown Perilous adventures. * * * * * Ships and sea were forgotten. We trampled And stumbled On, on, Through the burning sand To the hot shroud of the squat threatening forest, Where, as you walked, You tore apart A solid sheet of air. Brown satyrs grimaced at us, Swinging with long hairy arms From crooked branch to crooked branch. The sun Was at its height. Rays pierced the hot shade; White lines of light Shot through the shadows To where a point of green Shuddered with dangerous movement, Throbbed and hummed with the whirr of insects. Birds more bright than any streamers from the sun Cleft the air Like hammers; Scintillating wings Tossed patches of colour Into the dark shimmering air. Shrill calls Whistled like knives Hurled through the empty heat. Frantic chattering rose up. Through the honeycombed darkness Slim animals —Their hides splashed with false sunlight— Quivered away Into the hollow distance. Or clattered past us, Cloven hooves Kicking at the hard, bent trunks Of gnarled trees. Large hairy fruits of wood Were cast at us, Snarlingly, From the darkness. Faces —Faces peered down From the interwoven boughs. Hastily we stumbled on; Hurriedly we stumbled back, Bewildered. Small tracks Tripped through the blackness Hither and thither; Twigs crawled from under our feet, Hissing away In venom —And we were bewildered. Then suddenly We felt, Rumbling in curling patterns through the ground, The beating of drums. As winds bellow into caves, As waves swirl and curl into hollows, We heard the blowing of wooden trumpets And of pipes. Soon, Under the western canopy of the sun, Where the fevered hills lay huddled together, We saw great gourd-shaped palaces Loom up like mountains. Figures played on trumpets, Twisted like snakes, Or on the curved, carved horns of unknown beasts. In the sound was mirrored The panic seizures of the night, —The fear of things that walk in darkness. The drums were painted In hot colours That, even through the dusk, Glowed torture and writhing torment. Like a shower of molten lead The din fell down upon us From the Palaces. Bare yellow women Hurried To greet us; Their heels swayed inward As they walked. They offered fruits —Fruits that were strange to us; Mellow they were, and with a scent Of sun, of summer, And of woodland nights. We ate —And dreams closed round. * * * * * DUSK Night like a hawk Swooped down On to the phoenix bird, —Tore out its flaming feathers. Solitary plumes Flared down into the darkness, Floating above the distant sea. Stillness and heat clung together; And the hawk Spread out her wings. Gigantic pinions Flutter the air above, Fanning our faces And We sing..... SAILOR-SONG On swinging seas our ship has flown —In sun and shadow lands alit. We saw the sack of Carthage Town (And Dido building it). Cassandra, direful prophetess, We heard foretell the fate of Troy, And through its streets helped wheel and press That wooden, painted toy. We've seen events aboard this hulk Of grave import and mystery —The serpent's writhing horrid bulk Go seething through the sea. Then once we left Atlantis Town. Behind us like a lily flower It blossomed; but then down, far down, Sank every vane and tower. Now you can hear the clanging beat Of bells beneath the furious foam. In coral palaces the great Sea monsters make their home. Their corridors with pearl are pav'd; Float down them in an endless flight Fierce finny beasts. The walls are laved In irridescent light. We brought gifts—myrrh and frankincense— From Khubla to the Great Moghul; Espied the Juggernaut immense Pound over flesh and skull; Saw desert-men atone for ills With frenzied hands, with wounds that gape, —The hermits hidden in the hills —The Herod in his Tyrian Cape. From out our ship, held fast by gale, We watched Andromeda's release; Beheld the galleon in full sail That flew the Golden Fleece. Icarus, proud of his new power, We saw stretch out his wings to fly. We heard in that tremendous hour The cry from Calvary. Thus many things we understand That puzzle landsmen: we can tell Of perils in each time and land; But outside Heaven or Hell No fruit so strange we tasted save But one; none cast so strange a spell Except the fruit the first Eve gave To the first man who fell. THE DANCE The song ends. The rocking earth Plunges madly —Lunges like a man About to fight. Trees roll beckoning branches at us, Branches that swing and sway. From the forest The animals Howl Like laughter. With their burning scimiters Flames slice the night. Monotony, A life preserved in ocean salt, Scales off our limbs. Within our veins The liquor of this fruit-of-fire Mounts in splendour inexhaustible. The world itself Dances To make us dance In cosmic frenzy. WHY SHOULD A SAILOR RIDE THE SEA? Why should a sailor ride the sea, When he can drink and dance and sing, Or watch the stars out-blossoming Upon the tree of night? Why should he face the tear-salt waves, When he can sing, or feast on fruit, Dance to the silver-sobbing lute, And all men seem his slaves? No more to ship or sea we'll go, To watch the land sink out of sight Suffused by purple fumes of night, Each heart weighed down with woe. But under rustling fretted lace Of leaves, we'll dance and stamp our feet In frenzy, to the furious beat, —The rhythm of all space. Or watch each dappled fawn and elf Spring from the green lairs where they hide; Now every soul is multiplied And communes with itself. The softly sailing moon is now A pendulum, hung in a vast Blue bubble—so to mark our fast Lithe movements to and fro. Down from the sky the willing stars Fall round each brow a crown to form; Till feet and limbs, a rushing storm, Dance whirling on in ecstasy. The earth dances; The earth dances; Trees charge at us Like horsemen; Forests swoop Down the hill, Charging at us, But we are brave, Full of a fiery courage, And go onward Onward, Through the galloping trees. We shout Glowing phrases —Snatches of ineffable wit. The frenzy in our feet Must surely set the world afire. Yet still the stars Rain down their golden tremors of delight, And the moon Sweeps like a bird Through the arch of space. We, too, Float downward Gently To soft shipwreck. We, too, Are of the kindred of the Pleiades; Reel on our golden path Down, Down, Through the curved emptiness of the heavens. PART II CORNUCOPIA Now music fills the night with moving shades; Its velvet darkness, veined like a grape, Obscures and falls round many a subtle shape —Figures that steal through cool tall colonnades, Vast minotaurian corridors of sleep; Rhythmic they pass us, splashed by red cascades Of wine, fierce-flashing fountains whose proud waves Shimmer awhile; plunge foaming over steep Age-polished rocks, into the dim cold caves Of starlit dusk below—then merge with night, Softly as children sinking into sleep. But now more figures sway into our sight; Strong and bare-shouldered, pressed and laden down, Stagger across the terraces. They bear Great Cornucopia of summer fruit And heavy roses scented with the noon —Piled up with fruit and blossoms, all full blown, Crimson, or golden as the harvest moon— Piled up and overflowing in a flood Of riches; brilliant-plumaged birds, that sing As the faint playing on a far sweet lute, Warble their tales of conquest and of love; Perch on each shoulder; sweep each rainbow wing Like light'ning through the breathless dark above. Heaped up in vases gems shine hard and bright; Sudden they flare out—gleaming red like blood— For now the darkness turns to swelling light, Great torches gild each shadow, tear the sky, As drums tear through the silence of the night; Breaking its crystal quiet—making us cry Or catch our sobbing breath in sudden fear. A shadow stumbles, and the jewels shower On to the pavers with a sharp sweet sound. They mingle with the fountain drops that flower Up in a scarlet bloom above the ground, A beauteous changing blossom; then they rain On to the broad mysterious terraces, Where sea-gods rise to watch in cold disdain Before those vast vermillion palaces, —Watch where the slumbering coral gods of noon, Drunk with the sudden golden light and flare Of flaming torches, try to pluck and tear That wan enchanted lotus flower, the moon, Down from its calm still waters; thus they fall, Like flowing plumes, the fountains of our festival. Slowly the torches die. They echo long, These last notes of a Bacchanalian song, Of drifting drowsy beauty, born of sleep, —Vast as the sea, as changing and as deep. In thanksgiving for shelt'ring summer skies Still, far away, a fervent red light glows. Small winds brush past against our lips and eyes, Caress them like a laughing summer rose, And rainbow moths flit by, in circling flight. A harp sobs out its crystal syruppings; Faintly it sounds, as the poor petal-wings, Fragile yet radiant, of a butterfly Beating against the barriers of night. Then from the Ocean came the Syren song, Heavy with perfume, yet faint as a sigh, Kissing our minds, and changing right from wrong; Chaining our limbs; making our bodies seem Inert and spellbound, dead as in a dream. * * * * * Bound by the silver fetters of your voice To this new slavery of dreams, We, listening, rejoice. The magic strains Swell in this darkness star-devoid. The music streams Upon the world in patterns passionate yet clear, And stains Each soul. The mind, decoyed By thoughts that grind and tear Away old values, Is sent down other thoughts So subtly swift, That in their fleeting passage They can cut adrift our souls Upon a sea of wonder and of fear. Within the arid minds of men This music sounds but once, for then They hear no other song. In it, tumultuous rush of wings, The glamour of old lovely things In deserts buried long, The grace of beasts that bound and leap With movements blithe and strong —Of those that creep Away in hissing-reptile rage— All these, all these are found. They hear The secrets, solved, of each dead age, Each mystery is clear. For in this music's flow, the din Of spheres that tear and speed and spin Through pulsing space is heard, And all things men have loved and feared Are mirror'd in each sound. SONG Our hidden voices, wreathed with love's soft flowers, Wind-toss'd thro' valleys, tremble across seas To turbann'd cities; touch tall lonely towers, Call to you thro' the sky, the wind, the trees. Misted and golden as the hanging moon, That like a summer fruit floats from the sky, Thrills out our distant age-enchanted tune, —Nor will it let you pass our beauty by. But if it should not reach to stir your mind, Then hold a summer rose against the ear, Till through its crimson sweetness you can hear The falling flow of rhythm—so designed That from this secret island, like a star Shining above a shrouded world, our song Cleaves through the darkest night and echoes long, Bidding you follow whether near or far. Come hither where the mermaids churn the foam, Lashing their tails across the calm, or dive To groves and gardens of bright flowers; then roam Beneath the shade of stone-branched trees, or drive Some slow sea-monster to its musselled home. Here, as a ladder, they climb up and down The rainbow's steep refracted steps of light, Till, when the dusk sends down its rippling frown, They quiver back to us in silver flight. The moon sails down once more; our mermaids bring Rich gifts of ocean fruit. Again we sing. Enchantment, love, vague fear, and memories That cling about us like the fumes of wine With myriad love-enhancing mysteries We pour out in one song—intense—divine, Down the deep moonlit chasms of the waves Our song floats on the opiate breeze. Why seek To goad your carven galleys, fast-bound slaves Who search each sweeping line of bay and creek, Only to stagger on a hidden rock, or find The limp dead sails swept off by sudden wind? Thus always you must search the cruel sea, For if you find us mankind shall be free! But when you sleep we grasp you by the hand, And to the trickling honey of the flute We lead you to a distant shimmering land Where lotus-eaters munch their golden fruit, Then fall upon the fields of summer flowers In drunken sunlit slumber, while a fawn Prances and dances round them. Oh, those hours When through the crystal valleys of the dawn Down from the haunted forests of the night There dash the dew-drenched centaurs on their way, Mad with the sudden rush of golden light —Affright the lotus-eaters, as they sway Towards the woodlands in a stumbling flight. In these deep groves we follow through the cool Shadow of high columnar trees, to find The fallen sky within a forest pool That's faintly veiled and fretted by a wind, Lest our white flashing limbs should turn you blind. * * * * * As the sweet sound of bells that fall and fade In watery circles on the verge of night, So rounded ripples spread beneath the shade Of flowing branches dripping with green light. Thus do we wander; but when day is spent We grope our way thro' vast tall palaces, Palaces sinister and somnolent, Where lurk dim fears and unknown menaces. These high pale walls and this pale shining floor Seem built of bones, by ages planed and ground To a white smoothness. On this rock-bound shore The bodies of dead sailors oft are found. These sombre arches pierce the sullen sky. These pillars are the pillars of the night. Of what avail your strife and agony? Why seek to search and struggle for the light? Our music chains you: binds your limbs from flight. PROSPECT ROAD Gigantic houses, tattered by all time, Raise their immense and ruined bulk and height In one unending universal street, Against a strange and sunken yellow sky —Like sunset trickling through into the sea, Down to the depths—yellow and grey and green. Blind windows face the interminable road; Innumerable those windows seem to stretch All smeared and stained and stamped with time and blood, —Stains that seem faces—horrid twitching masks Moving their lewd derisive lips and tongues, Spitting out treacheries with vampire lips— Or eyes that gaze from far blank-stretching walls —The tortured eyes of those who see their death Approaching æon-by-æon along this road. Behind the walls sound voices whispering Of dire and hidden, carefully hidden, thoughts— Cruel, wicked and unfathomable things That lie behind this infamy of stone. Then clamour, shrieking voices, or a pause That falls like lead through the suspended air; Broken by laughter—rending piercing sounds That seem to tear the fabric of our minds. Slinking along these wicked, stricken walls, I reached a shining distant point of light. And glory came—vast and unending light, Rays—flashing, writhing rays of light. And then the music sounded. Ah, that sound! Cadences rose and fell unendingly— Quivering, shining waves of sound and sight— Sounds of the universe—the cries of space And planets tumbling wildly round our world —Showing the meaning of the meaningless. "God and eternity"—strange flashing sounds The whirl of time, "Melchisedec"—"Glory of God" And space—the universe—like framing words— "Gog and Magog"—"Infinity"—the rush of waters And the sky comes down. Down with the splintering stars. 1916-1919. BOOK II GREEN FLY