Saturday, December 5, 2015

"Dortmunder" by Samuel Beckett


In the magic the Homer dusk
past the red spire of sanctuary
I null she royal hulk
hasten to the violet lamp to the thin Kin music of the bawd.
She stands before me in the bright stall
sustaining the jade splinters
the scarred signaculum of purity quiet
the eyes the eyes black till the plagal east
shall resolve the long night phrase.
Then, as a scroll, folded,
and the glory of her dissolution enlarged
in me, Habbakuk, mard of all sinners.
Schopenhauer is dead, the bawd
puts her lute away.

Source of the text - Samuel Beckett, Collected Poems in English & French. New York: Grove Press, 1977.

TJB: Brothelyrical. The narrative—in which the poet goes a-maying—bows to precocious-cryptic language, with little mortar between the bricks.

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