Tuesday, March 31, 2015
IN GOOD HEART, April 76, for Conrad, poem by: John Sawkins
When that Aprille with his shoures sote
The droghts of Marche hath perced to the rote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
And which vertu enengdred is the flour;
Dan Chaucer, Prolgue to the Canterbury Tales.
April is the cruellest month...
mixing memory and desire
T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
Do not cry out in your need
and do not be angry
when the teeth of the harrow
tear at your heart
for it is the spring harrowing
without which
the soil can cradle no seed
nor bear any fruit;
try not to weep when you shudder
for the forces of sorrow
need firm ground;
though the heart find no ease
yet seed take
then rain will come too
in its own sweet time
12.4.1976
The droghts of Marche hath perced to the rote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
And which vertu enengdred is the flour;
Dan Chaucer, Prolgue to the Canterbury Tales.
April is the cruellest month...
mixing memory and desire
T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
Do not cry out in your need
and do not be angry
when the teeth of the harrow
tear at your heart
for it is the spring harrowing
without which
the soil can cradle no seed
nor bear any fruit;
try not to weep when you shudder
for the forces of sorrow
need firm ground;
though the heart find no ease
yet seed take
then rain will come too
in its own sweet time
12.4.1976
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