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Canticle of the Columns

Author(s): Paul Valry, Louise Bogan, May SartonSource: Poetry, Vol. 94, No. 1 (Apr., 1959), pp. 1-4Published by: Poetry FoundationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20587400

Accessed: 12/10/2010 18:36

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POETRYPOUNDED IN I9I2 BY HARRIET MONROE

VOLUME XCIV NUMBER 1

APRIL 1959

PAUL VALER Ytranslatedy

LOUISE BOGAN andMAY SARTON

CANTICLE OF THE COLUMNSGentlecolumns, hoseHats dayhasflowered,Whom realbirds hooseTo circle, ntowered,Gentlecolumns,Concert f separates!Each immolatesSilence nunison.-What do you lift ohigh,Radiantequalities?-Toward a faultlessesireOur studious itanies!

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POETRY

We singtogetherThat we support he ky!O single ndwise voiceThat sings or he ye!Seewhat pureovations,What sonorous light,Our limpid elationsDraw from he aylight!So cold and sogoldenWe were from urvalleysBy the hisel okenTo becomethese ilies!Fromourbedsof crystalWere roused nd impressedAnd talonsfmetalCut us and dressed.To confronthemoon,Themoon and the un,As fingertipshineWe were polished achone!Servants ithoutknees,Smileswithoutfaces,Beautybefore sFeelsher thighs lameless,Parallelreverence,Features nblindfold,CurvingearsdeaftoWhite burdens hey old,

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AUL VALERY * LOUISE BOGAN * MAY SARTON

A temple vereyesDark for ternityWithout godswe riseToward the ivinity!Our youth, ur antiquity,Stone flesh,hadows lowing,Are proud f the ubtletyBornofmultiplebeing!Girls fgoldennumbers,Strong n the aws fHeaven,On us falls nd slumbersA honey-colouredod.He sleeps ontent,he ight,That eachdaywe disposeOn the able f love, rightStilltide n ourbrows.Incorruptibleisters,Half-burning,alf-cool,We havechosen sdancersStrong inds,dry leaf-fall,Decades of centuriesAnd the eoples sleep,Where a deep past ies,Never deepenoughdeep!Beneath ur equal love,Than the orld heavier,Throughthe ayswe moveAs a stone hroughater!

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POETRYWe walkwithin timeAnd our radiant odiesWith footstepshat o not fallAre imprintednfable....

THE SPINNERShe sits t an evening indow spinning oolWhere the inging ardenrocks tselfosleep;The oldwheel'swhirring asmade her senses ull.Drunkwith blue,weary of trying o keepThe teasing air mooth hat vadeshercombing,Shedreams, er smallhead bent ndhalf sleep.A shrub nd the ureairdistill his oamingSuspended n ight, hat eliciously estowsItsfloweryosses n her and thegloaming.A stem hich the andering ind wills todispose,Bows greetingf its tarry race nvainAnd, lavish, ffers he pinning heel itsrose.But the pinner pins n, lonely kein y skein;Mysteriouslyhefrail hadow falls etween,Threading tself hrough he rowsyfingers'ein.The dream nwinds-angelic dlenessAnd withoutpause, round the redulous pindleUndulates the onghairwith its aress.