Act III of my collaboration with Solst. Emily and Walt say farewell.
Come and see my garden
the grass is a simple thing
Heaven and Earth married
in a carpet of exquisite green.
Emily, my sweet, I shall follow you with delight.
A strand of summer grass,
waving with uncounted rhythms,
glorifying us to undiscovered heights.
I feel I might become undistinguished, uncovered, naked,
languishing in the odorless atmosphere.
Look, the daisies lean forward
as if to catch your every fervent word;
seeming to nod in agreement
with ideas not yet bloomed.
Sometimes,
I think Heaven
must exist in a word.
Come then, Sir.
I shall, I shall. Let us behold
the inimitable music
my amusement is triumphant
on love let us dance.
Urge and urge and always the urgent desire to dance.
Take my hand, let us salute the world, you and I, together.
The ecstasy of sunlight
the dancing heart soars
'Til twilight cools the passion
with colorless dew.
I have reckoned much, but the origin of love questions
my claim to life;
great hopes wither away underneath numerous suns.
My little garden is love.
But Mistress Sun is fickle,
she can warm or wither
with just one glance.
[and she pauses a little, struck with some thought to large to say out loud all at once, and stands reaching out her hand to Walt . . .]
I have been quite carried away.
But I must remember myself,
my duties, are here,
among the echoes of memory.
Dancing and laughing consume us, my dear.
I and my hat, we will tramp through the vastness of days.
I will sleep out in the unprotected night.
I will search for answers where none exist.
And you will look for me in the stars and in the falling leaf.
Farewell, my lovely flower.
I am generally not a fan of collaborative writing, but this piece has a wonderful cohesiveness--the tone stays constant throughout, which is no mean feat with one hand stirring the soup. The piece interweaves the conversational feel and some lovely imagery with seeming effortlessness. A very fine piece of work.
You certainly create a quaint sense of another time and of studied manners... I liked very much the playful flirting and Miss Dickinson's comment, 'I might like to shed this turtle shell and see what others miss'... and at one point I thought they were both going to take everything off and sport on the green grass...but, no, the glass of sherry was needful.
Cleverly contrived and good fun... I enjoyed the elegant flow of conversation..
You know, there isn't anyone whom I have come across on this site, that can express such perfect harmony with another, put it into words and then make it a beautiful story.
this is a wonderful portrait..each poet kept distinct from the other in such a genius way.
I love how you put emphasis on their differences & keep the flow throughout!!!
It is excellent, emily & as my little nephew would say, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy!!!
This is great. It's a lovely tribute to two of our own and the cohesiveness of the piece is such that it sounds like a real conversation, but is still distinct enough to tell that it's more than just that.
First off, I'm so glad you guys recovered this piece :-)
Like W.k.kortas says, the consistency and cohesiveness is excellent - in fact, I basically echo everything he says: the work reads like the conversation, tone and imagery all stemmed forth naturally.
Aww Emily, this was such a beauty, and the command of language here, I adored. A fantastic collaboration. It reads like... a ancient dream ...something... so many pretty lines
Heaven and Earth married
in a carpet of exquisite green. -----favorite. this says so much. such a melted joy, in unification
My little garden is love.
But Mistress Sun is fickle,
she can warm or wither
with just one glance. --------------and this. hmm sweet mischief I love everything about sun.. I see sun masculine, funny, how we people think differently. to me it is the sun god.
this was a successful, soothing, terrific piece of work. congrat, guys.
I wonder if Miss D would have been happy if someone had sprung her from herself? Can people only be happy through others? Are there some who do not need to be happy I wonder? Would she have been able to think as she it, with her focus, if real life had claimed her?
turning in my chewed pen and dogeared note book with the fuzzy strawberry shortcake pic on the front - you know - with the mashed spiral cuz I'm left handed?
GOOD LORD I feel like such an adolescent against this - this is exquisite collaboration. Well done.
to the Lost Boys
I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.
Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much g.. more..