Léon Laviaux--The Ebon Muse, and Other Poems (1914)

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THE EBON MUSE ANDOTHER POEMS ENGL's^ikj*BY JOHN MYERS O'HARA FK \V!THE TEXT OF LEON LAV


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I OI'VUKIilT IIKI'OSIT.


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THE EBON MUSE


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THE EBON MUSEAND OTHER POEMS

BYLEON LAVIAUX

ENGLISHEDBY

JOHN MYERS O'HARA

PORTLAND MAINESMITH & SALEMDCCCCXIV


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COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY SMITH & SALE

Of this edition two hundred copieshave been printed.

No.

/^.JUN27l9i4


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?fHE dominant note of the first volume ofLeon Laviaux, the young Creole poet, isa glorification of the_/?//t' dc couleur

theme unique in literature. His poetry, except inso far as it pertains to an appreciation of naturalbeauty in the tropics, is unreservedly laudative ofthe dark-skinned races. This singular predilec-tion is due, as he tells us, both to heredity andenvironment. He seeks to give it expression instrange and erotic songs, through whose fulgu-rant smoke break flashes of lyric fire. They arebrief bursts of passion, like volcanic puffs, toofierce and impetuous for prolonged fervor. Eventhis can be noticed in the fragmentary characterof " The Ebon Muse," his only attempt at sus-tained utterance. It would seem that the imagi-native impulse, in those somnolent lands whereinertia rules, was incapable of any enduring flight.This is undoubtedly the effect of climatic condi-tions on the mind. But Laviaux is still young.A cool whiff of more virile air, from zones aliento the eternal blue, may yet invigorate his Muse.


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Then we may have something worthier than thesesongs that voice the ultra-emotion of youth overplastic beauty songs that shall breathe to us,through the scent of jasmine and the lure of palm,the soul of the Creole isles.

J. M. o.


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CONTENTSThe Ebon Muse .


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CONTENTSPAGEZaIre

out of thy large fruit-lusciousmouth, zaire 37

the grace of the white and bruteof the black 38

strange frenzies fill ... 39a sorcery 40

Tanessethou art fair as the palm . . 43sluggish as some palm-fringed and

placid flood 44your flesh has the scent . . 45undo the scarf that hides . .- 46

Fafinethy parroquets, fafine ... 49nude in the cool . . . . 50though fair, o north, thy nymphs 5my amber dove . . . . . 52


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You willfind the colors of the flesh areeven more varied and surprising than

the colors of fruit. Nevertheless it is onlywith fruit colors that many of these skin-tints can correctly be compared. There arebanana-tints , lemon-tones, orange-hues, zvithsometimes such mingling of ruddiness as inthe pink ripening of the mango. Agreeableto the eyes the darker skins certainly are, andoften very retnarkable all clear tones ofbronze being represented ; but the brightertints are absolutely beautiful. There is onerare race type, totally unlike the rest; theskin has a perfectly golden tone, an exquisitemetallic yellow ; the eyes are long and havelong silky lashes ; the hair is a mass of thick,rich, glossy curls that shoiv blue lights in thesun. What mingling of races prodttced thisbeautiful type? I do not think the termolive always indicates the color of this skin,which seemed to me exactly the tint of goldand the hair flashes with bluish lights likethe plumage of certain black birds.


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Physically the fille de couleur may certainlybe classed, as white Creole writers have nothesitated to class her, luith the most bea^itifulwomen of the humaii race. She has inher-ited not only the finer characteristics bodilyof either parent race, but something elsebelonging originally to neither, and createdby special climatic andphysical conditionsa grace, a suppleness of form, a delicacy ofextremities, so that all lines described by thebending of limbs are parts of clean curves.

Among her class there arefigures to makeyou dream ofAtalantaand all, whether uglyor attractive as to feature, are finely shapedas to body and limb a type of the htimanthorojighbitd representing the true secret ofgrace economy offorce.

LAFCADtO HEARD.


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/ am, by fates decreeAnd my heredity.Of soul a Jiedonist,Offtesh an ebonist.


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THE EBON MUSE


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THE EBON MUSESAW two palms, like temple columns, soarInto the night, and under far, the shoreEncircle with its arms of sand the sea

That sighed upon its bosom drowsily

;

And all the slopes that fell in flowers to meetThe wave receding foamless at their feet,As wide and gradual steps of purple seemedAscending to the summit where I dreamed

;

Above the palms that mingled crowns and madeAn arch where rustling verdure overswayed.Full-orbed, and like a splendid lamp, the moonHung golden in the starless dusk of June;The very air was odor, and the calmWas that of love's own sleep on sea and palm

;

And on my lids and in my heart the spellWith irresistible insistence fell

;

Each drowsy sense was yielding, but beforeThe ways of dream had closed the final door.Out of a sudden flash of lyric flame.And virginal for me, the vision came


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She came for me, out of a cloud of fire,A regal evocation of desireFor me, sole dreamer of a Creole isle,Sole wooer of her world-forgotten smileShe came from some dim haunt of spirit-peace,The asphodel of shadow and surceaseAcross the sea, as o'er the Stygian stream.Leaving the hidden shore of dusk and dreamI saw her dimly, gazing from afar,As through horizon mists a sable starThe banished Muse, released from that malignDecree that doomed her to her sister NineIn Song's far dawn they first beheld her nude.Abashed before a goddess ebon-hued ;Drooping their lids, they turned from her in shame,A being branded with almighty blameSwiftly repulsing her they turned away,Mnemosyne's white daughters of the day;And left her, child of chaos, with the blightBorn of the black abysses of the night.

Like a bronze statue, in the softer glow.She stood immobile, near to me, and loWhere well a laureled throng might bend to her,I was alone, her poet-worshipper


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Her lids, unlifted still, were thrall to sleep,Sweet where the underworld is poppy-deepUnravished still the lips that parted mute.Riper and moister than a luscious fruit

;

One hand was raised while one was pressed to feel,Against her heart, its passionate appeal

;

The surging thrill of life in every vein.Glowing and potent for delight and pain

;

Erect and tense, lifting their pointed pride,Inviolate her breasts in fervor vied;Between her shoulders shone a glossy track.The dented slope of her imperial back

;

The contour of her torso seemed to meA polished buckler of black ivory

;

Her loins' curves like a lyre's whose symmetriesDipped faultless to the dimples of the knees

;

Her arms with darkling sheen were sleek and fair.Her throat blue-shadowed where the lustrous hairClung as the crater's smoke that densely driftsWhen the far cloud below it breaks and lifts

;

And fruits and flowers, upon her burning mouth,Bruised juice and drenched the perfume of the South

;

The mystery of the heavens was in her eyes.Creation's vast and fathomless surmise

;

Elusive vision of immortal love


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Falling through shadow from the dome aboveShe seemed the incarnation of the night,The glorious antithesis of lightAs darkness deepened all her beauty shoneFairer than any underneath the sun ;And leaping upward, a triumphal spanOf sudden stars from wave to zenith ranThe lustre of the moon, a paling power,Lingered as for a god's own bridal hourAnd up the purple steps she came to me.The last between the summit and the sea.She came with passion in her eyes that wereDewy with languor, and with lips of myrrhBeneath her lashes lurked volcanic fire.Her breath was fragrance and her glance desireFervor and flame of song were in her face,All memory of beauty in her gracePromise of swift fruition and the fairLargess of virile years to live and shareFresh flowers to hide the faded ones below,An aureole to crown the waning glowRapture for torture, smiles for futile tears.And satiation for the pang that searsIllusion upon illusion, and the arts


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Of great dead lovers, earth's memorial heartsAll this and more my soul was conscious of,Delirious with her beauty and her loveShe came and stood before me, and delightHalf stifled speech and almost blinded sightI dared not look, so stirred by all I felt,But every sense was conscious that she knelt.

She leaned to me and laid her lips on mine,Imperiously bending but benign ;I drank the lyric fervor of her mouth,The soul to sing the glamor of the SouthHigh inspiration and the will to makeA vital strain to which the world would wakeLeaving the beaten paths of Song to blowStrange music where a fameless people goThe equal glory of the night and day.Wresting from light its long unchallenged swayA hymn of racial beauty, rare and new.The rival lure beneath the ebon hueThe radiance of the suns that triumph inThe finer lustre of the golden skin ;Burnished as bronze or sable as the rise.Velvet and deep, of moonless midnight skies.


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This was the gift, my heritage, that sheGave with the kiss whose fire is memoryWhose freshness is of Heliconian dews.The consecration of the Ebon Muse.


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CREOLE IDYLS


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LIKE slave and slaveWith mighty plumes,Great palm trees waveTheir clustered blooms

Along the shoresA curving mileOf blackamoors

In giant file.

Their trunks that showAn ebon gleam,A shining rowOf torsos seem

Each crest of greenAs madras wound

In silken sheenTheir brows around.

And unelate,This pageantryA potentateHas made of me


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The yellow sandIs my divan

That perfume-fannedI bask upon.

Red rifts aboveThe waves that break,A circle ofFlamingos make;

My slaves I markWith listless eye,And near me dark

Sultanas lie.

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DARK on the seaward dawn,Into the roseate fire,

The palms aspireInto the void they yawn,

Summit to summit wed,Green-helmeted.

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A FOAMING lineOf waves defineThe outer barOf shores afar

Beneath the beatOf blinding heat,The ocean's hueIs molten blue;

Where shoreward wideThe surges ride,Two buzzards standUpon the sand

And high in air,Against the glare.Two others flyAnd blot the skyBetween the sunAnd soar of oneColossal palmThat lords the calm.


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NOON!Silence and heat

A Creole tuneOn the lips of old FadetteNoon!Drowsy and sweet

The. patois croonOn the lips of old Fadette

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MYRIAD murmurs hushA haunt of sloth,Heavy with heat and lushWith giant growth

Masses of cyclic moldImpede the way,

Pungent with scent of oldAnd vast decay

Under the leaves that domeProfundity,

Yellow lianas roamFrom tree to tree

Ever the endless green,The endless shade

Riot of plants that screenThe forest glade

Brilliant with flowers that surgeFrom tangled strife,

Breathing creative urgeOf tropic lifei6


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Potence of earth elateAnd savage grown,

Under the suns that sateIts belting zone.

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ZOMOQUE!Ecstatic bird,

Sing on, thy heart to easeWhile the glad treesToss a white cloud of blossoms to the breeze !

Zomoque!I have not heardThe nightingale, but theseMad melodiesAre more to me than songs of other seas !

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THE shield a godMight bear who trodAlong the world

Or disk of fireImmortal ire

From heaven hurledThe sea-line's rimIs purple dim

Beneath its glow

It leaves a scarOf cinnabar,

And sinks below.

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o CARIBBEAN wind!Freshen afar and bendThe trees that are to theeThy twilight litany

Stir in their tops and sendThrough palm and tamarind,

Blown from a shadowed sea,Thy vesper prayer to me.


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Powdered with dust,Panting they writhe

In fierce embraceBurning with lust,Humid and litheTheir limbs enlace

Over the hillOf stunted palms

Faint rumbles come

Breaking the stillNight with its calms,The voodoo drum


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NIGHT, would that I,God of the sky,Heaped gems on thy darkBare breasts that I markMine for delight,Amorous Night!

Night, ere we part,Take from thy heart

One jewel to beCast earthward for meSwiftly a star

Falls from afar

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oF my loves there arcfourThat my song would endearGolden Luore IEbon Zaire I

And with lyric caressLaurel each, as a queen ;Bronze-hued Tanesse !Amber Fafine I


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LUORE


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THE orange flareIs wide on the west, Luore

And verdured palms in the lucent airTower by the shore.

The jasmine scentSwoons heavy and sweet, Luore !Where blossom-thick is the vine's ascent

Over the door.

Your languid eyesAre dim with desire, Luore !And in your heart is the heat that skies

At noon can pour.

Your body cleavesIn ardor to mine, Luore

Close as the vine, with its fragrant leaves,The palm upbore.

As sweet as fruitAnd poignant your kiss, Luore !Our lips, with ravishing fire, embrute

At rapture's core.29


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Soul of the South,I could, O my queen, Luore

Yield all my life on your luscious mouthAnd be no more.

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Two golden dovesThat fill their scented nestHaunt of the Loves,Twin treasures of her breast

Fairer than throatOr shoulder garment-free,My glances gloatUpon their luxury.

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THE sapphire tide,Foam-fringed and inlet-wide,Creeps to the beach ;And the long ripples reach

Like silver lips o'erlapping each on each

And eager o'erThe body of Luore,That lies supine.They melt away as winePoured lavish by some lover on a shrine

Linger and kissWith lips of liquid bliss

Each charm, and traceThe way of their embrace,

Until they vanish in some secret graceAnd then, at last,

Their fluid lure is passed ;And blithely sheComes dripping from the sea.

And gives herself, a golden nymph, to me.

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M"Y passion for golden fleshSeeks a honied mesh(Like a bird that would soarFrom its nest no more)

In thy beautiful bosom, Luore

My kisses, that flow as fireO'er a fane, expire

(Like a flambeau of yoreAt the bridal door)

In thy beautiful bosom, Luore

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ZAIRE


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OUT of thy large fruit-luscious mouth, ZaireAs music fell,With velvet iteration on my ear.That syllableAs soft as flowers that patois of the French

From musky lipsThat slur the guttural, O comely wench,

Caressful slips

Its murmur wooes the sense with fervor ofSome drowsy wine ;

O language of the Creole isle of love.Thou, too, art mine

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THE grace of the white and brute of the blackWere mixed in theeA simian face the slope of thy back,Callipyge

Dark lustre of lines that are sculpture-sleek,The vapid leerA whim for the monstrous did Nature wreakIn tall Zaire

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STRANGE frenzies fillThy black and shining bosom's rise and fallWild passion's primal thrill,

Its brutal rapture immolating all

The gust that sweepsThe unrelenting flame along the blood ;

The tidal throe that keepsWrithing the crest of its voluptuous flood

The slime and fireThat overboil the crater of thy soul

The ruin of desireThat tears, like the tornado, to its goal.

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A SORCERYIs thine intenseThe odor of thy bosom is to meA potent redolence

Poignant yet sweet,It breathes thy race;

Enters my veins, a fierce and virile heat.Burning for thy embrace.

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TANESSE


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THOU art fair as the palmBy the shore, in the calmOf the night, Tanesse

Thou art regal to meAs that loveliest tree

Of the south, Tanesse

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SLUGGISH as some palm-fringed and placid floodOf current slow,

The hidden fervor blended in thy bloodMust ever flow

A tropic fire that slumbers in thy veins,My bronze capresse ;Languor of isles of indolence that reigns

In thee, Tanesse

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YOUR flesh has the scentOf an exquisite musk,From the amorous duskOf the orient

But the ankle-bells,That tinkle and fretLike a silver jet,

Are a ring of shells

And the madras green.As thy crowning gem.Is the diadem

On thy tresses seen ;And the girdled whisk

Of a garment looseIs the passion-noose

Of an odalisque

And the jasmine gates.With their attar-jar,Is the dim bazaar

Where thy lover waits.

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u NDO the scarf that hidesThy breast whose bronze dividesIn turgent lovelinessOf hue, Tanesse

For charms of fairer tintBare throat and shoulder hint

Sleek slopes that my caressDescends, Tanesse

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FAFINE


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THY parroquets, Fafine,With plumage green,Doze in the mango tree

Only the insect-soundStrident around

Life is a revery.

Broad on the sleeping townThe sun beats down ;White the deserted street

Hot is the hillward noon,My octoroonDream in the shadow. Sweet

Curl on the woven matLithe as a cat.

Lissome of limb and arm ;

Slumber will soon relax,Supple as wax.

All of thy body's charm.

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THOUGH fair, O North, thy nymphsAnd half divine;Colder to me the glimpseThan snow of thineFair with the statue's grace.

Its frozen dreamWhose faultless curves no trace

Of tint redeem

Thrall to the law within.To Nature true

Give me the golden skinOr darker hue.

Futile, O lure of white,Thy pale appeal

Mine is an Afric blightThat few may feel.

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Y amber dove,My Creole queen,O leave me not, my love

The Northern skiesAre grey, and leanAbove a land of sighs

And none will careOf all, Fafine,

For beauty deemed less fairTheir hearts are cold.Their ways are mean.

Their only god is goldWhen you forsakeThese slopes of green,Your heart, Fafine, will break ;

My southland rose.Abide betweenMy arms that fold you closeAh, tears ! they tell.My Creole queen,That this is not farewell


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HERE ENDS THE EBON MUSE AND OTHERPOEMS ENGLISHED BY JOHN MYERS O'HARAFROM THE TEXT OF LfiON LAVIAUX ANDPRINTED BY SMITH & SALE PORTLAND MAINE


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Deacidifiod using the Bookkeeper procNeutraltzrng Agent; Magnesium OxjdeTreatment Date: MAR -sJBBKKEEPER

PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. L


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Léon Laviaux--The Ebon Muse, and Other Poems (1914)

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