Such a Din!

Such a Din!
P O
,
E M
S
Published by
JOHN M cC U R D Y
H alifax , N ova S cotia
Such a Din!
POEMS
by
KENNETH
LESLIE
For Betsy
and my gang
A huile latha chi’s nach fate,
Certain of the following poems were
first printed in the Halifax Morning
Chronicle, the New York Times, Pan,
the Literary Digest, and Scribner's
Magazine.
CONTENTS
Page
To the Skipper of the Song Fishermen
Substitute .........................................................
Do You Mind the Demoiselles.................
Once Only ............. .....................................
Halifax ...............................................................
Cape Breton Lullaby.....................................
Nova Scotian in California........................
Not Ever A w ay..............................................
Detective ...........................................................
Redundance .......................................................
The Whale and the Frog ..........................
Precocious .........................................................
Happy Ending ................................................
Harvest .............................................................
Three Tulips Stand and Talk to Me . . . .
Love in a Hurry............................................
Written in Notre Dame, Montreal...........
New Bride .......................................................
When April Comes to Broadway.............
Dear Island Girl.............................................
Let Loose the Clear Warm Light...........
Separation ........................................................
Compromise ......................................................
Tables .................................................................
Blessed Are the Meek...................................
April Coinage ................................................
Perspective .......................................................
Glooscap’s Eye ..............................................
Lament ...............................................................
Rainbow Haven ..............................................
Highland Lament ..........................................
To a Radio Fan..............................................
G lo r ia ..................................................................
Rosaleen .............................................................
Kathleen .............................................................
Open Ladling ................................................
Welcome .............................................................
Promise ...............................................................
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
32
33
34
35
36
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
45
CAPE BRETON LULLABY
|RIFTWOOD is burning blu/
wild walk the wall shadpfws,
_ U winds go riding by,
go riding by the Lochie^fheadows.
On to the ring of day
flows Myra's stream, mgmg,
Cadil gu lo, laddie,
lo, laddie,
sleep the kfars awaj 1
Far on Ben isree; s side
lambies
wander tl
everywhere,
here, there,
their troubled mammies
and everyw
find them an$ fo them deep,
singing,
fold them io sle<
Cadil gu lo, laddie,
lo, laddie,
sleep the moon away!
Daddie is/on the Bay;
he'll keep the pot brewin',
keep all/from tumblin' down,
from tumblin' down to wrack and ruin.
Pray Mary send him home,
safe from the foam, singing,
CadiJ gu lo, laddie,
lo, laddie,
sleep the dark away!
15
NOVA SCOTIAN IN CALIFORNIA
he drowzy palms have drugged to peace
my senses as the songbirds cease
their golden-throated hearts’ release;
but vagrantly does my heart remember
mist on a hill in a lost September.
The fields in brilliant cassocks rise
and tilt their heads; and straightway flies
their hallelujah to the skies;
but fondly does my heart remember
leaves in a lane in a lost November.
Under the moon’s blood-orange light
Sierras stretch their indolent might
gathering grandeur from the night;
yet strangely does my heart remember
snow on a sill in a lost December.
16
NOT EVER AWA1
*0 not be sad
You are not far awav/from me,
3U are not ever away, my lad
^is true, a wanton-crujei sea
stapds there between^
a wall of awful gree*
but I have crossed it with an easy leap
and Watch you there
and w&tch you say your prayers and go to sleep
and ris^ to run outdoors
as you ^ould say “ to sip the morning air” .
Oh I am glad
that you afe strong and that your spirit soars .
my eyes aresdry now . . . n o! they never weep
You too 0e gfad!
Some d&y we shall be meeting,
clasping hands And greeting,
some/day here oV after
we shall have great laughter
to hiake up what we missed,
and my lips shall be kissed
yours, and for losd; years
5ur unashamed glad tears
shall rain upon those rowers
that still remember all tt^ese pitiless
yet faithful hours.
IT
DETECTIVE
SE tells the story
words never can,
U
the story of a house
or a woman or a man.
Wear finds the secret
under the bloom
of a young lip
or a new room.
Age with its net
round your eyes will discover
whether you're a cheat
or a wool-dyed lover.
18
REDUNDANCE
H
R listened while a jewelled lady knelt;
He grimaced as he tightened up his belt;
she dented two fat cushions where she knelt.
He had s^thne to hear the things she said;
his ears were dull for he had long been dead,
yet roused himself to hear the things she said,
listened for sW e joy in her selfish living,
some joy of getting even if not of giving;
not even maliceywas /e ft in her flat living.
“ Jack won’t last lo^g now, deprived of his vices . . .
a hundred million dven at present prices . . .
I thank thee, ^od, f\have been no prey to vices.”
The parson^ fat voice\took his name in vain;
but that h^d long sinceNceased to give him pain;
he hardly/knew it, so long taken in vain.
“ It’s getting now so on\ must sit with the
/grocer
good heavens, is that womanNcoming closer ?
This/is the deluge . . . nodding to Mrs. Grocer!
Ahd so the devils in Matilda’s sot
laited new thorns for him and raked a pole
ind crucified his corpse for her deact\$oul.
19
THE WHALE AND THE FROG
the Monarch of the seas to the frog in the
SAID“ I hole,
wallow where I please, from Equator to the
Pole;
I swallow ships’ knees
and the world remarks my sneeze
and the fishes heed my wishes where the green
waters roll.”
“ Just to think!” said the frog in the hole.
“ From the Carolina Islands to the Tides of Fundy
Bay
I dash and I splash with a mighty careless motion.
Every billow knows my sway when with hur­
ricanes I play
as I roll to my goal,” said the Monarch of the
Ocean.
The frog’s reply was droll, “ Why I didn’t have a
notion!”
“ Come, leave your shallow pool!
Learn in a deeper school!
Expand your ego with imperial pride!
The sun has never set on my kingdom of the w et!
Hop on my back, I’ll take you for a ride!”
Said the frog, “ Your back is slippery
and your mouth is very wide!”
His Majesty grew mighty wroth
and churned the ocean to a froth
and spit and swore, “ If I could walk
Tld come ashore and then we’ld talk!”
He sneezed and bellowed as he went,
“ I don’t believe in argument!”
20
♦
But just as if he hadn’t gone
the frog politely whispered on:
“ Dreaming on this lily pad since I was a tiny tad
news I do not often see of your liquid monarchy;
for your capers in the papers, where you wallow,
whom you swallow,
I have had no time to read,
strumming tunes on my guitar
which is more engrossing far
than a monarch’s bloody deed!
Just what does it avail when you flail with your
tail?
Can the blue be any bluer for your trouble?
Is the rainbow in the sky any grander though
more high
than the rainbow I espy within a bubble?
All the beauty ever known in this shallow pool is
sown,
here the candle-moths flicker in the twilight glow,
the pine’s sable plume nods above its shadow
gloom,
and its visitors are stars I’ld have you know!”
PRECOCIOUS
OUNG one, old one,
chin-in-the-air!
Y
Brave one, bold one,
never-took-a-dare!
How could you tell
the depth of the well ?
How could you tell?
Freckles-of-gold one,
frolicking hair,
too-much-told one,
care, take care!
What was it fell,
splashed in the well?
What was it fell?
I
22
HAPPY ENDING
I
*
would be home for my last sleeping
where quiet is stressed by a cricket's cheeping
and nightfall under the pasture bars
gathers the dew and the low red stars.
Breath of the rose and breath of its fall
and the snow's clean breath, to be breathing
them all,
to grip no more with the tired hand,
to climb with the cloud and to lie with the land,
lying so low there'ld be no more falling,
climbing beyond all reach of calling,—
that would be sweet and happy ending
of too long wearing and too much mending.
$
£
23
HARVEST
To
(le r to j
EW R oss and Hubbard’s Cove
now shall be treasure trove;
Windsor and Springhill Mines,
these, too, be shrines.
Jeddore, Sheet Harbour, Neil’s,
their spirit feels
a swelling pride for one,
our dearest son
who planted petalled song
in every wrong,
whose hand was open wide
to all but pride.
Wherever his singing feet
our dust has beat
there shall be growing
flowers of his sowing.
Whatever fortunate ear
his voice did hear
shall always after mind
things happy and kind.
N
24
THREE TULIPS STAND AND TALK TO ME
HREE tulips stand and talk to me.
One is as yellow as can be,
one red, another purple black.
I hear but cannot answer back;
the things they tell me are so true,
such things there is no answer to.
They say to be a tulip one
must bed in soil, must burn in sun,
must brood in blackness, swell with rain,
must stumble through the earth in pain
from frosty night to flaming song,
to joy that lasts not overlong
in measured time, although they say
no moment ends in tulip day.
To earth they drain their cup of thanks
for broken light in crowded ranks.
They drink the sun to give it back
in yellow, red, and purple black.
25
LOVE IN A HURRY
HINK not Love will hesitate
sulking by your garden gate!
T
Love will always venture in,
hearts to find and woo and win.
If his arrows reach no mark
he will stumble through the dark
out upon the road again
through the sun and through the rain
seeking, seeking for his own,
wild-eyed, lost, and all alone.
Love that finds no heart to woo
shakes the dust from off his shoe,
racing out of breath to find
kindred of his simple mind.
26
WRITEN IN NOTRE DAME, MONTREAL
ANDLES flutter and fail,
C
flutter and fail and die;
over the altar railthe gray Lord Christ hangs high.
Pale His face; but flushing
crimson flows the tide
through the ages gushing
from His wounded side.
Broken souls run calling,
under their weight of woe
stumbling, kneeling, falling . . .
Cease not, crimson flow!
Broken souls kneel praying,
casting their burdens down;
nor flinches He the paying
nor minds the thornier crown.
Never the ages bringing
sharer of His load,
companion of His singing,
venturer on His road,
vainly His heart goes yearning
down the footworn aisle
for a friend’s discerning,
for a comrade’s smile.
Candles flutter and fail,
flutter and flare again
to the Lord Christ dim and pale
and patient in His pain.
27
NEW BRIDE
N her quivering lips I see
O
frightened ghosts of gladness, three,
joy and gentle mockery
and wistfulness half-hiding;
in their trembling curves I find
ancient meanings lost to mind,
bold desires interwined
with wild fear abiding.
Age-old artistry I trace
in the sculpture of her face;
gaining such exultant grace
myriad moulds were broken.
There's a ring upon her hand,
tiny glittering golden band;
high the walls of wonderland
frown on such a token.
Slowly mists begin to rise
in the deep dark of her eyes,
fear bewildering the skies
as the night comes speeding;
recklessly her hands enclose
one long stem of bramble rose,
crimson wine upon the snows
of her fingers bleeding.
28
WHEN APRIL COMES TO BROADWAY
HEN April comes to Broadway
she finds a motley crowd
W
of high silk hats and low silk gowns
and poor folk looking proud,
a cheap show of fakers
and swarming motor cars
and vertical bright acres
stamping out the stars.
April weeps in silence,
clasping her shawl of rain;
for she remembers Broadway
when Broadway was a lane!
29
DEAR ISLAND GIRL
EAR Island girl, it was a doubtful door
D
you stood behind, that morning, undecided
whether to open or stay closed, not sure
of what your hand would wish, a door divided
a moment from itself; and in the space
of that bewilderment I saw it plain,
the place where beauty dwells with wordless grace
of tears, revealing loveliness through pain.
A very little pain, but yet enough
to prove to me once more that paradise
is here on earth and made of earthly stuff,
of simple Island faith in shining eyes.
Young tears, soon over . . . but in some September
my heart shall heed the Island and remember.
30
LET LOOSE THE CLEAR WARM LIGHT
L
ET loose the clear warm light that lights your
eyes,
let it come quickly to mine without restraint
or veiling over or thought of being wise
against me, for I’m sure there is no taint
of any wish to bind you to my side
but a full freedom here where you may roam
and come again and where my love stands wide
to watch your wandering and your turning home.
Turn to me then a moment while the air
weeps in the dark along the cable wire,
turn to me while the breath of your eyes and hair
burns my parched lips to an unwise desire;
and turn away now quickly while my head
can still remember that wise thing I said.
31
SEPARATION
A
cup of bitter wine
has come between me and my jo y ;
we have been thrust apart.
No fault . . .
no fault but mine,
my brightness gone, my heart,
my pulse, my boy!
COMPROMISE
Y son, theh?
M
clean,
the sword's poind,
-that are
the hilt's cross;
dusty and
thV^oads between;
ed them
nordCaesar nor Christ
knowing their loss.
32
TABLES
\
is rung on tables, tables can tell
the true coin from the false; and they are
SILVER
wise
in more than that, for do they not know well
the touch of hands, and do they not surmise
from long experience the truth that flows
in words across their silence? The years weave
loyalty in their frames, and friendship glows
rich in the grain of them. This I believe:
the hands of men have fashioned useful things
upon the e^rth,— the wheel, the scythe, the spade;
their busy minds\iave burrowed the void with
wiiJ
and burned the dark vH^h lenses; but their hearts
lade
a Supper table where they fill a bowl
✓ with bread and milk to feed their common soul.
33
BLESSED ARE THE MEEK
A
LL out hf date the word that rings
from that old sermon on the mount;
the world forgets the little things,
yet little things are all that count.
To palliate the demon speed
we blur the linb of sea and shore
and still his space^devouring greed
shrieks unappeas^d for more and more.
Impatient of the winding path
where satisfying wonders spring
we take the broad straight road of wrath
that feeds/on its owp hungering.
The rage to add and multiply
the things we own, th^ things we need,
arithmetic to crucify
our souls upon a cross b f greed!
All/out of date the word that sings
in that old sermon on the mount;
the world is bored by little things;
yet little things are all that count!
34
APRIL COINAGE
HE valley’s door will open
and May with mocking words
T
and rhythm of greening branches
will sing to the tune of birds.
She’ll care not what comes after,
nor heed what went before;
she’ll weave her petalled laughter
over the valley floor.
And June will strip her blossoms
out of the orchard rows,
proving with dying beauty
how death from beauty grows.
But today an April shower
riding an April breeze
has turned new-minted silver
in the tall poplar trees.
And their flashing coin I’ll borrow
to buy from the April rain
a caustic for my sorrow,
a balsam for my pain.
♦
35
PERSPECTIVE
ACH being persuaded of an opposite thing
our ways perforce must separate.
But this is plain that if we keep on walking.
our roads must surely find one road again.
And for that future moment,
bright meeting-time I long
and press the faster
that it be not too distant!
E
GLOOSCAP’S EYE
y
NDER the brow of Blomidon,
the shaggy brow of Blomidon,
Glooscap’s Eye
watches the tide, watches
the wind, watches
you go by.
U
Under the mists of Blomidon,
the rainbow mists of Blomidon,
as you go by,
face the wind, face
the tide, but face
not that Eye!
36
LAMENT
7*
H
IS loop is run
from borrowed birth
to paid-back earth;
and out of the sun
we must behave;
but under the sky
we may cry!
By the closed grave
we may yield to pain,
nor seek control
of the flooded soul;
we may give rein
and lift the gate
for the good release
and strange peace
of grief in spate.
Here comes no man
to point a moral,
to plait a laurel
for some bright Plan,
nor hymn that rounds
to its “ amen” sweet
with tune complete,
but the questing sound
of the far-heard thrush
whose three-beats drill
with grieving thrill
the day’s last hush;
while the wind’s fear
cresting the bar
shakes one star
utter and drear.
37
RAINBOW HAVEN
(Written for Farmer Smith)
I
N the House of Healing
waking in my bed
I said
“ Good-morning, ceiling!”
And at evenfall
turning on my side
I cried
“ Good-night, wall!,,
But in Rainbow Room
when sly sleep comes stealing
into the deep blue ceiling
stars burst and bloom.
Under a breathing mist
on the salt wet sand
my hand
by the great sea is kissed.
Here where the waves are curled
a boy or girl can shout
right out,
“ Good-morning, world !”
38
HIGHLAND LAMENT
I
must go, the storm is making
over Durnish to the sea,
and the night’s own heart is breaking,
breaking, too, this heart of me.
Let me go, the flutes are calling
where the fair sea-sirens dwell;
there my Donahs sail is falling,
snared within their fatal spell.
In my skiff I’ll follow after;
from their lips your face I’ll save,
and I’ll bring my heart of laughter
to your home beneath the wave.
If your foolish eyes be straying
to the sea-maid’s beauty there,
I will clasp you, I will hold you,
I will bind you with my hair!
TO A RADIO-FAN
ELL then, my boy,
what is Buck Rogers doing,
W
riding what asteroid
in what unheard-of places?
Is someone lost
and is great danger brewing
by villains in the void
with terrible empty faces?
Tell me, explain
the way he solves the crime,
using what new invention
and faithful rocket-ship,
the way he foils
the villain just in time
catching him in the vice
of his own bad intention.
Never forget,
my son, my own right hand,
never forget he’s there
in every storm and trial,
he’s coming fast
to take the high command
and drive away despair
in true Buck Rogers style.
But tell me this:
What can Buck Rogers do
when a man’s heart is sore
for a shrill voice of joy?
Has he a trick
to bring back eyes of blue?
Time-machines— will they restore
a garrulous small boy?
40
GLORIA
L
ITTLE lonely lady
with the heartbreak in your eyes,
Tell me what has hurt you,
you look so sad and wise.
High upon a hilltop
you sigh the whole day long,
sighing in the sunshine
for the foghorn’s song,
yearning in the stillness
for the noises of a street
where a tall man strides
amid the race of little feet,
greybeard playmate
shouting with delight,
little laughing lady,
her eyes star-bright!
Is it this you’re minding
that you look so sad and wise,
little lonely lady
with the heartbreak in your eyes?
41
ROSALEEN
(two and a half)
OLLING gait has Rosaleen,
R
rambling down the swale,
a little ship in a big sea,
staggering to the gale.
Socrates could never guess
the thoughts of Rosaleen;
Napoleon could not abash
her glance of blue serene.
Gloria is serious
and Kathleen is gay;
but when you deal with Rosaleen
the devil is to pay!
42
KATHLEEN
ITH a baited wish from Ingonish
I cast my net in the eye of the moon,
W
where every fish was a pirate fish
and my scaly smack was a frigatoon,
where every fish was a dancing dish
and every scale was a gold doubloon
cut from the purse of the lordly moon
who bent the knee of the cloud in fee
and smothered the stars in his dusty train,
walking the night in revery
of proud and introspective pain
scorning the valleys of the sea
and the hills of the earth with a cold disdain—
until on a night of mist and rain
they vanished all mysteriously,
and the moon, too proud to wax or wane,
was caught in the love-swell of the sea.
(Nothing is nearer to loss than gain
or closer to love than love's disdain.)
Then out of the water a white-limbed daughter
leaped from the love of the moon and the sea,
and there in my wish-weighed net I caught her
(the waves were asleep and the moon couldn't
see)
and home in my silvery smack I brought her
and now she's the daughter of you and of me,
sly as the moon and sleek as the sea!
43
OPEN LADING
I
have a barge of dreams, have I,
but never a town to tow it to.
PH let it go on the waters that flow.
I have a seed of grass, have I,
but never a field to sow it to.
HI let it fly on the air that goes by.
I have a sheaf of words, have I,
but never a soul to show it to.
HI let it roam . . . it will find a home.
44
WELCOME
Y doors are flung wide open,
M
my windows lifted high
for the little girl in calico
when she draws nigh.
And I can hardly breathe at all,
my heart makes such a din,
for the little queen in calico
when she walks in!
PROMISE
HE door we closed will open again;
the stream we dammed will burst with rain
T
the stars shall mock this blinding dawn
and the song we smothered sing on, sing on !
45
W H AT TH EY SA Y ABOUT “ W IN D W ARD ROCK”
In London:
“ Whether he is drawing an unusual portrait, as in the
Candy-Maker, or setting a man’s talk to the rhythm
of a train, as in The Shanachie Man, he convinces us
that he has broken through the conventional to some­
thing that is burningly alive.”— London Times Literary
Supplement.
In New York:
“ Being undoubtedly of Celtic descent, Kenneth Leslie
is one to whom the music of poetry comes as naturally
as breathing. His rhythmic patterns are faultless;
but, apart from their kinetic appeal, these poems have
also the sturdy muscle and firm bone of reason. That
blend of mysticism and rationalism which is the
essence of the Gaelic spirit is inherent in Mr. Leslie’s
work, as it is in Yeats, O’Shaughnessy and others of
the Irish school.”— Herald-Tribune Book Review.
In Halifax:
“ In these poems Mr. Leslie gives us his own brave,
clear, and manly outlook upon life, the frank and
striking expression of a keen insight informed by
deep thought and wide experience.”— Father Stanley
MacDonald in the Chronicle.
“Here is a volume that is not cast in the average
mold. It is really uniquely new; and it comes to one
who is depressed by the dreary drip of the common­
place like a fresh breeze on a sultry day.”— Dr. MacGlashen in the Herald.
In Canada:
“ A very remarkable achievement. Besides music of
word, of cadence, imagination, and sound, sane crafts­
manship, it has a peculiar freshness of thought,
spontaneity, and a very definite and unfailing in­
dividuality. This poetry is so good and so fresh and
original that it puts Mr. Leslie at once into the ranks
of the few real poets, rather than the many skilled
and pleasant writers of verse.”— Charles G. D. Roberts.
In “The Island’” :
“The religious theme is dominant in many of the
verses in ‘Windward Rock’. Here one finds a mastery
of language, a compression of thought and happy
choice of imagery, unexcelled in the work of any
modern versifier.”— Frank Walker in the Charlotte­
town Guardian.