{"id":42,"date":"2002-09-02T22:04:27","date_gmt":"2002-09-03T06:04:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.jokeofalltrades.com\/root\/?p=42"},"modified":"2025-10-19T21:01:36","modified_gmt":"2025-10-20T03:01:36","slug":"of-music-and-poetry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/2002\/09\/02\/of-music-and-poetry\/","title":{"rendered":"Of music and poetry:"},"content":{"rendered":"

\nI have just made the most wonderful discovery. I was busy gluing some pieces on to a writing table I’m making and I had some old “goth” post-punk CDs in the changer. A bit of Bauhaus<\/a>, a little Sisters of Mercy<\/a>, some Siouxsie Sioux<\/a>… I had also included one of my favorite bands, (Clan of) Xymox<\/a>, which was on the 4AD<\/a> label back when it had claim to Lush<\/a> and The Pixies<\/a> and the Cocteau Twins<\/a>. It shames me to admit it, but I’d never really listened to a lot of the lyrics very closely—which helps to explain how I was surprised today to find that CoX<\/abbr> quotes my favorite poet Swinburne<\/a> in their song “Back Door,” which appears on the Medusa<\/i><\/a> album.\n<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\nThe poem quoted is perhaps his most well-known: The Garden of Proserpine<\/i>. It first appeared in Volume I of his Poems and Ballads<\/i>, which I just happen to have sitting next to me. Since I’m feeling generous, I shall reproduce the poem in its entirety. I give to you:\n<\/p>\n

\n

The Garden of Proserpine<\/h3>\n
\r\nHere, where the world is quiet,\r\n  Here, where all trouble seems\r\nDead winds’ and spent waves’ riot\r\n  In doubtful dreams of dreams ;\r\nI watch the green field growing\r\nFor reaping folk and sowing,\r\nFor harvest-time and mowing,\r\n  A sleepy world of streams.\r\n\r\nI am tired of tears and laughter,\r\n  And men that laugh and weep ;\r\nOf what may come hereafter\r\n  For men that sow to reap :\r\nI am weary of days and hours,\r\nBlown buds of barren flowers,\r\nDesires and dreams and powers\r\n  And everything but sleep.\r\n\r\nHere life has death for neighbour,\r\n  And far from eye or ear\r\nWan waves and wet winds labour,\r\n  Weak ships and spirits steer ;\r\nThey drive adrift, and whither\r\nThey wot not who make thither ;\r\nBut no such winds blow hither,\r\n  And no such things grow here.\r\n\r\nNo growth of moor or coppice,\r\n  No heather-flower or vine,\r\nBut bloomless buds of poppies,\r\nGreen grapes of Proserpine,\r\n  Pale beds of blowing rushes,\r\nWhere no leaf blooms or blushes\r\nSave this whereout she crushes\r\n  For dead men deadly wine.\r\n\r\nPale, without name or number,\r\n  In fruitless fields of corn,\r\nThey bow themselves and slumber\r\n  All night till light is born ;\r\nAnd like a soul belated,\r\nIn hell and heaven unmated,\r\nBy cloud and mist abated\r\n  Comes out of darkness morn.\r\n\r\nThough one were strong as seven,\r\n  He too with death shall dwell,\r\nNor wake with wings in heaven,\r\n  Nor weep for pains in hell ;\r\nThough one were fair as roses,\r\nHis beauty clouds and closes ;\r\nAnd well though love reposes,\r\n  In the end it is not well.\r\n\r\nPale, beyond porch and portal,\r\n  Crowned with calm leaves, she stands\r\nWho gathers all things mortal\r\n  With cold immortal hands ;\r\nHer languid lips are sweeter\r\nThan love’s who fears to greet her\r\nTo men that mix and meet her\r\n  From many times and lands.\r\n\r\nShe waits for each and other,\r\n  She waits for all men born ;\r\nForgets the earth her mother,\r\n  The life of fruits and corn ;\r\nAnd spring and seed and swallow\r\nTake wing for her and follow\r\nWhere summer song rings hollow\r\n  And flowers are put to scorn.\r\n\r\nThere go the loves that wither,\r\n  The old loves with wearier wings ;\r\nAnd all dead years draw thither,\r\n  And all disastrous things ;\r\nDead dreams of days forsaken,\r\nBlind buds that snows have shaken,\r\nWild leaves that winds have taken,\r\n  Red strays of ruined springs.\r\n\r\nWe are not sure of sorrow,\r\n  And joy was never sure ;\r\nToday will die tomorrow ;\r\n  Time stoops to no man’s lure ;\r\nAnd love, grown faint and fretful,\r\nWith lips but half regretful\r\nSighs, and with eyes forgetful\r\n  Weeps that no loves endure.\r\n\r\nFrom too much love of living,\r\n  From hope and fear set free,\r\nWe thank with brief thanksgiving\r\n  Whatever gods may be \r\nThat no life lives for ever ;\r\nThat dead men rise up never ;\r\nThat even the weariest river\r\n  Winds somewhere safe to sea.\r\n\r\nThen star nor sun shall waken,\r\n  Nor any change of light :\r\nNor sound of waters shaken,\r\n  Nor any sound or sight :\r\nNor wintry leaves nor vernal,\r\nNor days nor things diurnal ;\r\nOnly the sleep eternal\r\n  In an eternal night.\r\n<\/pre>\n
\n—Algernon Charles Swinburne\n<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n
\nNP: Clan of Xymox, Agonised By Love<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I have just made the most wonderful discovery. I was busy gluing some pieces on to a writing table I’m making and I had some old “goth” post-punk CDs in the changer. A bit of Bauhaus, a little Sisters of Mercy, some Siouxsie Sioux… I had also included one of my favorite bands, (Clan of) […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-42","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/42","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=42"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/42\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":205,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/42\/revisions\/205"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=42"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=42"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=42"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}