‘What would ye, ladies ? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned.’
James Elroy FLECKER 1884_1915 The Golden Jouney to Samarkand
‘Men are unwise and curiously planned, ’
Enticed by lust of knowing the unknown.
Nature, before their lives are fully spanned,
Assures [t]race seed is sown lest base be blown
Restringing puppet pauper to new stand.
Ever onwards, with sharp thorn lies strewn
Uncertain quicksand way to Samarkand,
New gleanings, old rehashed, replay strung clone
Which Time wears down, forgotten every hand.
It seems so pointless, like a telephone
Sans dial, sans tone, mobile receiver jammed.
Earth's endings, like beginnings, berth alone.
AND CURIOUSLY women often bow !
PLANNED obsolescence may await men now !
Author notes
robi3_0337_robi3_0000 ASX_DZX
Image Doubt http://www.flickr.com/photos/yosigo/415729120/
For the full text of The Golden Journey to Samarkand see below
see also Samarkand http://allpoetry.com/poem/4588641
words in [b]rackets vehicle two or more meanings
[t]race = trace, race ace
__________________
The Golden Jouney to Samarkand
PROLOGUE
I
We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage
And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die,
We Poets of the proud old lineage
Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, -
What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales
Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest,
Where nevermore the rose of sunset pales,
And winds and shadows fall towards the West:
And there the world's first huge white-bearded kings
In dim glades sleeping, murmur in their sleep,
And closer round their breasts the ivy clings,
Cutting its pathway slow and red and deep.
II
And how beguile you? Death has no repose
Warmer and deeper than the Orient sand
Which hides the beauty and bright faith of those
Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
And now they wait and whiten peaceably,
Those conquerors, those poets, those so fair:
They know time comes, not only you and I,
But the whole world shall whiten, here or there;
When those long caravans that cross the plain
With dauntless feet and sound of silver bells
Put forth no more for glory or for gain,
Take no more solace from the palm-girt wells.
When the great markets by the sea shut fast
All that calm Sunday that goes on and on:
When even lovers find their peace at last,
And Earth is but a star, that once had shone.
The Golden Journey to Samarkand
EPILOGUE
At the Gate of the Sun, Bagdad, in olden time
THE MERCHANTS (together)
Away, for we are ready to a man!
Our camels sniff the evening and are glad.
Lead on, O Master of the Caravan:
Lead on the Merchant-Princes of Bagdad.
THE CHIEF DRAPER
Have we not Indian carpets dark as wine,
Turbans and sashes, gowns and bows and veils,
And broideries of intricate design,
And printed hangings in enormous bales?
THE CHIEF GROCER
We have rose-candy, we have spikenard,
Mastic and terebinth and oil and spice,
And such sweet jams meticulously jarred
As God's own Prophet eats in Paradise.
THE PRINCIPAL JEWS
And we have manuscripts in peacock styles
By Ali of Damascus; we have swords
Engraved with storks and apes and crocodiles,
And heavy beaten necklaces, for Lords.
THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
But you are nothing but a lot of Jews.
THE PRINCIPAL JEWS
Sir, even dogs have daylight, and we pay.
THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
But who are ye in rags and rotten shoes,
You dirty-bearded, blocking up the way?
THE PILGRIMS
We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go
Always a little further: it may be
Beyond the last blue mountain barred with snow,
Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men were born: but surely we are brave,
Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
THE CHIEF MERCHANT
We gnaw the nail of hurry. Master, away!
ONE OF THE WOMEN
O turn your eyes to where your children stand.
Is not Bagdad the beautiful? O stay!
THE MERCHANTS (in chorus)
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
AN OLD MAN
Have you not girls and garlands in your homes,
Eunuchs and Syrian boys at your command?
Seek not excess: God hateth him who roams!
THE MERCHANTS (in chorus)
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
A PILGRIM WITH A BEAUTIFUL VOICE
Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells
When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,
And softly through the silence beat the bells
Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.
A MERCHANT
We travel not for trafficking alone:
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
Open the gate, O watchman of the night!
THE WATCHMAN
Ho, travellers, I open. For what land
Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?
THE MERCHANTS (with a shout)
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
The Caravan passes through the gate
THE WATCHMAN (consoling the women)
What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned.
A WOMAN
They have their dreams, and do not think of us.
VOICES OF THE CARAVAN (in the distance, singing)
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
James Elroy FLECKER 1884_1915
Itself probably after John Davidson
The Merchantman
In a list
A contest entry
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