The Man With The Hoe
Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
The emptiness of ages in his face,
And on his back the burden of the world.
Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
A thing that grieves not and that never hopes,
Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw?
Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow?
Whose breath blew out the light within this brain?
Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave
To have dominion over sea and land;
To trace the stars and search the heavens for power;
To feel the passion of Eternity?
Is this the dream He dreamed who shaped the suns
And marked their ways upon the ancient deep?
Down all the caverns of Hell to their last gulf
There is no shape more terrible than this –
More tongued with censure of the world’s blind greed –
More filled with signs and portents for the soul –
More packt with danger to the universe.
What gulfs between him and seraphim!
Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him
Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades?
What the long reaches of the peaks of song,
The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?
Thru this dread shape the suffering ages look;
Time’s tragedy is in that aching stoop;
Thru this dread shape humanity betrayed,
Plundered, profaned, and disinherited,
Cries protest to the Judges of the world,
A protest that is also prophecy.
O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
Is this the handiwork you give to God,
This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched?
How will you ever straighten up this shape;
Touch it again with immortality;
Give back the upward looking and the light;
Rebuild in it the music and the dream;
Make right the immemorial infamies,
Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes?
O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
How will the Future reckon with this Man?
How answer his brute question in that hour
When whirlwinds of rebellion shake all shores?
How will it be with kingdoms and with kings –
With those who shaped him to the thing he is –
When this dumb Terror shall rise to judge the world,
After the silence of the centuries?
This is beautiful Denis, here is a favourite of mine by Edwin
A Prayer By Edwin Markham
Teach me, Father, how to go
Softly as the grasses grow;
Hush my soul to meet the shock
Of the wild world as a rock;
But my spirit, propt with power,
Make as simple as a flower.
Let the dry heart fill its cup,
Like a poppy looking up;
Let life lightly wear her crown
Like a poppy looking down,
When its heart is filled with dew,
And its life begins anew.
Teach me, Father, how to be
Kind and patient as a tree.
Joyfully the crickets croon
Under the shady oak at noon;
Beetle, on his mission bent,
Tarries in that cooling tent.
Let me, also, cheer a spot,
Hidden field or garden grot—
Place where passing souls can rest
On the way and be their best.
I hadn’t read that one. It is a good, and thanks for posting it.
You’re very welcome Dennis! 😊
Reductive drudgery, I see, is hardly an invention of the office cubicle! An intriguing reminder that we seldom learn from our history.
Beautiful reductive drudgery though…😊
Agreed!
Kathryn
Prophetic stuff. I see where he fell out of favour as modernism took hold, he wasn’t prepared to compromise his poetry by taking on the new style apparently. I also read in Wiki (which is never wrong), that about three quarters of existing English poetry is in blank verse.
I don’t believe anyone should have to compromise, with regards to their writing style, whether Poet or Author, would Kathryn for example compromise while creating her art? If you write what’s in your heart and in a style you feel comfortable with, then you can live with what you’ve put on the page. Otherwise there is no point in writing because you are not being true to yourself, rather incorporating some version of what you think other people think you should be writing. I feel there is far too much snobbery involved in poetry…Ultimately poetry is what you define it to be yourself. I personally enjoy all types of poetry whether blank verse or otherwise.
I wish I could like your comment.
Wow–can’t even think of “literary” words to praise this. A formidable tour de force, maybe? Yes, I think that’s it.
Yes, that will work! 🙂