Two Poems By Ellen Douglas
Geste
I warn you, I won’t promise anything;
My ruddy revenant may well confound
With skirl of bagpipe, antic highland fling,
Each steadier denizen of grassier mound.
Perhaps down medieval stream I’ll trail;
Slim effigy, in velvet-hearted drift
Of lilies, spiced yet scentless, poet-pale,
Not pennies, never pennies for my swift
And eager eyelids; on Ionic trip
I’ll roll the bones with Charon to decide
Which of us should row; then fish, or skip
A scallop-shell in Lethe’s sluggish tide-
For hybrids are chameleon, and I
Must represent the hue on which I die.
-1954
Reassessment
Just now, a glut of smoky rooms and years;
Too many faces fretted by desire;
Worn cruel young, enamelled againsty tears-
Now I woul;d seek a cuntry, hardwood fire,
In flichering solitude gaze long, and learn
The clean pure goal within its changing heart;
Watch magic lace uncurl from hairy fern,
Or smile at periscopic tail, pert dart
Of chipmunk on spring sunwarmed wall. Now I
Find fresh surpassing wonders in the dance
Of blown sea foam, in bone-clean shells that lie
On any beach. These simple sums may chance
To total all the moons for whichn men scream;
At least the light shines constant on my dream.
-1955