from The New Book of Odes

      8                     Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave.

Loud intolerant bells (the shrinking nightflower closes

tenderly round its stars to baulk their hectoring)

orate to deaf hills where the olive stirs and dozes

in easeless age, dim to farce of man’s fathoming.

 

Shepards away!  They toll throngs to your solitude

and their inquisitive harangue will disembody

shames and delights, all private features of your mood,

flay out your latencies, sieve your hopes, fray your shoddy.

 

The distant gods enorbed in bright indifference

whom we confess creatures or abstracts of our spirit,

unadored, absorbed into the incoherence,

leave desiccated names: rabbits sucked by a ferret.

 

            Basil Bunting

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s