Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Restlessness...

There is a restlessness in me which will be my ruin... Sigh! This is one of my favorite poems...D. H Lawrence at his best...



AT the open door of the room I stand and look at the night,
Hold my hand to catch the raindrops, that slant into sight,
Arriving grey from the darkness above suddenly into the light of the room.
I will escape from the hollow room, the box of light,
And be out in the bewildering darkness, which is always fecund, which might
Mate my hungry soul with a germ of its womb.





I will go out to the night, as a man goes down to the shore
To draw his net through the surf’s thin line, at the dawn before
The sun warms the sea, little, lonely and sad, sifting the sobbing tide.
I will sift the surf that edges the night, with my net, the four
Strands of my eyes and my lips and my hands and my feet, sifting the store
Of flotsam until my soul is tired or satisfied.





I will catch in my eyes’ quick net
The faces of all the women as they go past,
Bend over them with my soul, to cherish the wet
Cheeks and wet hair a moment, saying: “Is it you?”
Looking earnestly under the dark umbrellas, held fast
Against the wind; and if, where the lamplight blew
Its rainy swill about us, she answered me
With a laugh and a merry wildness that it was she
Who was seeking me, and had found me at last to free
Me now from the stunting bonds of my chastity,
How glad I should be!




Moving along in the mysterious ebb of the night
Pass the men whose eyes are shut like anemones in a dark pool;
Why don’t they open with vision and speak to me, what have they in sight?
Why do I wander aimless among them, desirous fool?
I can always linger over the huddled books on the stalls,
Always gladden my amorous fingers with the touch of their leaves,
Always kneel in courtship to the shelves in the doorways, where falls
The shadow, always offer myself to one mistress, who always receives.




But oh, it is not enough, it is all no good.
There is something I want to feel in my running blood,
Something I want to touch; I must hold my face to the rain,
I must hold my face to the wind, and let it explain
Me its life as it hurries in secret.
I will trail my hands again through the drenched, cold leaves
Till my hands are full of the chillness and touch of leaves,
Till at length they induce me to sleep, and to forget.

6 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

you never stop amazing me..

3:49 AM  
Blogger Cheeru said...

Brilliant. Where do you get these amazing pictures from.

6:13 AM  
Blogger Zealous Zygote said...

Great! Simply great! Not only the post, but also the pictures at the appropriate places. Yeah,I have the same qn, where do you get the pictures from!? And would you be my English teacher?

10:46 PM  
Blogger Venkk Suryanarayanan said...

excellent.. amazing pictures... hats off again..

2:21 AM  
Blogger Poornima said...

To all: D. H. Lawrence wrote this poem! Just in case you guys didnt get it the first time!

Anon : I'm amazed that I've amazed you!

Amit: Secret! :p

Zy: English teacher? Your English is good enough! And Zy, you are woking now! Why do you want a lousy old English teacher?

Venkks : Again? When did you take your hat off at me first? :p

2:39 AM  
Blogger the wise old man said...

A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom. - Robert Frost

9:11 AM  

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