The Little Review, July 1917 (Vol. 4, No. 3) — John Shaqi
The Little Review, July 1917 (Vol. 4, No. 3)
General
The Little Review, July 1917 (Vol. 4, No. 3)
Literature, Modern -- 20th century -- Periodicals
Louis Gilmore
I
My thoughts are fish
That dwell in a twilight
Of green waters:
They are silver fish
That dart here and there
Streaking the still water
Of a pond.
My thoughts are birds
That have hung their nests
Near the sun:
They are yellow birds
That drift on stretched wings
Over a sea untroubled
By a sail.
My thoughts are beasts
That crouch and wait
In a black forest.
My thoughts are apes
That clamber through the tree-tops
Towards the moon.
II
In winter
People intensify
Their individuality
In houses.
In spring
By the side of lakes
Beneath trees
People walk
Vaguely sentimental.
In summer
Lying upon the warm earth
They hear the grass grow;
Or they become impersonal
In a contemplation
Of stars.
In autumn
People dispel
The characteristic
Melancholy of the season
With a cup of tea.
III
Rare delight,
That of hanging
By one’s tail
Over a pond.
Rare delight,
That of seeing
A green monkey
In the sky.
Rare delight,
That of reaching up
With one’s paw
To touch it.
Rare delight,
That of finding
The strange one
In the water.
Rare delight,
That of clasping
The belovèd
In death.
Poet’s Heart
Maxwell Bodenheim
The Mad Shepherd
The Narcissus Peddler
The Slender Nun
The Wine Jar Maiden
The Poet
A great window of palest purple light. The lower corner of the window is
visible. A dark purple wall frames the window, and narrow rectangles of
the wall, below and to the left of the window-corner, are visible.
Before the window-corner is the portion of a pale pink floor. One tall
thin white candle stands against the dark purple rectangle of wall to
the left of the window-corner. It bears a narrow flame which remains
stationary. Soft and clear light pours in from the window-corner and dim
shapes stand behind it. The Mad Shepherd appears from the left. He holds
a reed to his lips but does not blow into it. A long brown cloak drapes
him: black sandals are on his feet. His black hair caresses his
shoulders; his face is young. He pauses, three-fourths of his body
framed by the palest purple window-corner.
The Mad Shepherd (addressing the palest purple window-corner):
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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