selkie: (Sam/Friede Kassandra/no text)
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posted by [personal profile] selkie at 07:03pm on 15/10/2004
When you see this, post a bit of poetry in your own journal.

from Helen In Egypt, Eidolon, Book 3


Did her eyes slant in the old way?
was she Greek or Egyptian?
had some Phoenician sailor wrought her?

was she oak-wood or cedar?
had she been cut from an awkward block
of ship-wood at the ship-builders,

and afterwards riveted there,
or had the prow itself been shaped
to her mermaid body,

curved to her mermaid hair?
was there a dash of paint
in the beginning, in the garment-fold,

did the blue afterwards wear away?
did they re-touch her arms, her shoulders?
did anyone touch her ever?

Had she other zealot and lover,
or did he alone worship her?
did she wear a girdle of sea-weed

or a painted crown? how often
did her high breasts meet the spray,
how often dive down?

-- H. D.
There is 1 comment on this entry. (Reply.)
 
posted by (anonymous) at 07:29pm on 15/10/2004
One of my favorite pieces from "Helen in Egypt." Thank you.

I haven't got a livejournal, so . . .

(from T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land," IV: Death By Water)

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss.
                          A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth 
Entering the whirlpool.
                           Gentile or Jew
 O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

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