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Yet many come to wish their tower a well; For those who dread to drown of thirst may die, Those who see all become invisible: I
Here great magicians caught in their own spell Long for a natural climate as they sigh "Beware of Magic"-to the passer-by.
The Presumptuous
They noticed that virginity was needed To trap the unicorn in every case, But not that, of those virgins who succeeded, A high percentage had an ugly face.
The hero was as daring as they thought him, But his peculiar boyhood missed them all; The angel of a broken leg had taught him The right precautions to avoid a fall.
So in presumption they set forth alone On what, for them, was not compulsory: And stuck halfway to settle in some cave With desert lions to domesticity;
Or turned aside to be absurdly brave, And met the ogre and were turned to stone.
The Average
His peasant parents killed themselves with toil To let their darling leave a stingy soil For any of those smart professions which Encourage shallow breathing. and grow rich.
The pressure of their fond ambition made Their shy and country-loving child afraid No sensible career was good enough, Only a hero could deserve such love.
So here he was without maps or supplies, A hundred miles from any decent town; The desert glared into his blood-shot eyes;
The silence roared displeasure: looking down, He saw the shadow of an Average Man Attempting the Exceptional, and ran.
Vocation
Incredulous, he stared at the amused Official writing down his name among Those whose request to suffer was refused.
The pen ceased scratching: though he came too late To join the martyrs, there was still a place Among the tempters for a caustic tongue
To test the resolution of the young With tales of the small failings of the great, And shame the eager with ironic praise.
Though mirrors might be hateful for a while, Women and books should teach his middle age The fencing wit of an informal style To keep the silences at bay and cage His pacing manias in a worldly smile.
The Useful
The over-logical fell for the witch Whose argument converted him to stone; Thieves rapidly absorbed the over-rich; The over-popular went mad alone, And kisses brutalised the over-male.
As agents their effectiveness soon ceased; Yet, in proportion as they seemed to fail, Their instrumental value was increased To those still able to obey their wish.
By standing stones the blind can feel their way, Wild dogs compel the cowardly to fight, Beggars assist the slow to travel light, And even madmen manage to convey Unwelcome truths in lonely gibberish.
The Way
Fresh addenda are published every day To the encyclopedia of the Way.
Linguistic notes and scientific explanations, And texts for schools with modernised spelling and
illustrations.
Now everyone knows the hero must choose the old horse, Abstain from liquor and sexual intercourse
And look out for a stranded fish to be kind to: Now everyone thinks he could find, had he a mind to,
The way through the waste to the chapel in the rock For a vision of the Triple Rainbow or the Astral Clock.
Forgetting his information comes mostly from married men Who liked fishing and a flutter on the horses now and then.
And how reliable can any truth be that is got By observing oneself and then just inserting a Not?
The Lucky
Suppose he'd listened to the erudite committee, He would have oply found where not to look; Suppose his terrier when he whistled had obeyed, It would not have unearthed the buried city; Suppose he had dismissed the careless maid, The cryptogram would not have fluttered from the book.
"It was not I", he cried as, healthy and astounded, He stepped across a predecessor's skull; "A nonsense jingle simply came into my head And left the intellectual Sphinx dumbfounded; I won the Queen because my hair was red; The terrible adventure is a little dull."
Hence Failure's torment: "Was I doomed in any case, Or would I not have failed had I believed in Grace?"
The Hero
He parried every question that they hurled: "What did the Emperor tell you?" "Not to push." "What is the greatest wonder of the world?" "The bare man Nothing in the Beggar's Bush."
Some muttered, "He is cagey for effect. A hero owes a duty to his fame. He looks too like a grocer for respect." Soon they slipped back into his Christian name.
-rWf
The only difference that could be seen From those who'd never risked their lives at all Was his delight in details and routine.
For he was always glad to mow the grass, Pour liquids from large bottles into small, Or look at clouds through bits of coloured glass.
Adventure
Others had swerved off to the left before, But only under protest from outside; Embittered robbers outlawed by the Law, Lepers in terror of the terrified.
Now no one else accused these of a crime; They did not look ilclass="underline" old friends, overcome, Stared as they rolled away from talk and time Like marbles out into the blank and dumb.
The crowd clung all the closer to convention, Sunshine and horses, for the sane know why The even numbers should ignore the odd:
The Nameless is what no free people mention; Successful men know better than to try To see the face of their Absconded God.
The Adventurers
Spinning upon their central thirst like tops, They went the Negative Way toward the Dry; By empty caves beneath an empty sky They emptied out their memories like slops
Which made a foul marsh as they dried to death, Where monsters bred who forced them to forget The lovelies their consent avoided; yet, Still praising the Absurd with their last breath,
They seeded out into their miracles: The images of each grotesque temptation Became some painter's happiest inspiration;
And barren wives and burning virgins came To drink the pure cold water of their wells, And wish for beaux and children in their name.
The Waters
Poet, oracle and wit Like unsuccessful anglers by The ponds of apperception sit, Baiting with the wrong request The vectors of their interest; At nightfall tell the angler's lie.
With time in tempest everywhere, To rafts of frail assumption cling The saintly and the insincere; Enraged phenomena bear down In overwhelming waves to drown Both sufferer and suffering.
The waters long to hear our question put Which would release their longed-for answer, but.
'IS
The Garden
Within these gates all opening begins: White shouts and flickers through its green and red, Where children play at seven earnest sins And dogs believe their tall conditions dead.
Here adolescence into number breaks The perfect circle time can draw on stone, And flesh forgives division as it makes Another's moment of consent its own.
All journeys die here; wish and weight are lifted: Where often round some old maid's desolation Roses have flung their glory like a cloak,
The gaunt and great, the famed for conversation Blushed in the stare of evening as they spoke, And felt their centre of volition shifted.
Summer 1940
53
But I Can't
Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show, If we should stumble when musicians play, Time will say nothing but I told you so.