1. |
Oread
01:55
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Whirl up, sea—
whirl your pointed pines,
splash your great pines
on our rocks,
hurl your green over us,
cover us with your pools of fir.
- H.D.
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2. |
Moonrise
06:08
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Will you glimmer on the sea?
Will you fling your spear-head
On the shore?
What note shall we pitch?
We have a song,
On the bank we share our arrows—
The loosed string tells our note:
O flight,
Bring her swiftly to our song.
She is great,
We measure her by the pine-trees.
- H.D.
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3. |
To H.D.
02:18
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You were all loveliness to me —
Sea-mist, the spring,
The blossoming of trees,
The wind,
Giver-of-Dreams.
Then —
A wistful silence guarded you about,
As in the spring
Iris and anemone are guarded.
And like a flame
Your beauty burned and wrought me
Into a bell,
Whose single note
Was echo of your silence.
- Frances Gregg
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4. |
Ortus
07:18
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How have I labored?
How have I not labored
To bring her soul to birth,
To give these elements a name and a centre!
She is beautiful as the sunlight, and as fluid.
She has no name, and no place.
How have I laboured to bring her soul into separation;
To give her a name and her being!
Surely you are bound and entwined,
You are mingled with the elements unborn;
I have loved a stream and a shadow.
I beseech you enter your life.
I beseech you learn to say "I"
When I question you:
For you are no part, but a whole;
No portion, but a being.
- Ezra Pound
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5. |
Flute Song
01:31
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Little scavenger away,
touch not the door,
beat not the portal down,
cross not the sill,
silent until
my song, bright and shrill,
breathes out its lay.
Little scavenger avaunt,
tempt me with jeer and taunt,
yet you will wait to-day;
for it were surely ill
to mock and shout and revel;
it were more fit to tell
with flutes and calathes,
your mother’s praise.
- H.D.
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6. |
Garden
04:32
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You are clear
O rose, cut in rock,
hard as the descent of hail.
I could scrape the colour
from the petals
like spilt dye from a rock.
If I could break you
I could break a tree.
If I could stir
I could break a tree—
I could break you.
- H.D.
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7. |
Wild Rose
03:27
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O wild rose, bend above my face!
There is no world-
Only the beat of your throat against my eyes.
White moss is harsh
Against these soft white petals of your feet.
It is hard to dream you have followed the wild goats
Aslant the perilous hills.
I have only the fire of my heart to offer you,
O peach-red lily of my love!
- Bryher
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8. |
April
03:32
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(Nympharum disjecta membra)
Three spirits came to me
And drew me apart
To where the olive boughs
Lay stripped upon the ground:
Pale carnage beneath bright mist.
- Ezra Pound
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9. |
We Two
07:01
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We two are left:
I with small grace reveal
distaste and bitterness;
you with small patience
take my hands;
though effortless,
you scald their weight
as a bowl, lined with embers,
wherein droop
great petals of white rose,
forced by the heat
too soon to break.
We two are left:
as a blank wall, the world,
earth and the men who talk,
saying their space of life
is good and gracious,
with eyes blank
as that blank surface
their ignorance mistakes
for final shelter
and a resting-place.
We two remain:
yet by what miracle,
searching within the tangles of my brain,
I ask again,
have we two met within
this maze of dædal paths
in-wound mid grievous stone,
where once I stood alone?
- H.D.
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Alex Taylor Auckland, New Zealand
Alex Taylor is a composer, songwriter and poet originally from New Zealand and currently based in San Diego, California.
Artist photo by Priscilla Northe, Striped Trees Productions.
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