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O Jean, in whom my spirit sees, Clearer than through whisky or disease, Its dernin nature, wad the searchin licht Oor union raises poor'd owre me the nicht. I'm faced wi aspects o mysel At last wha's portent nocht an tell, Save that sheer licht o life that when we're joint Loups through me like fire aa else t'aroint. Clear my lourd flesh, and let me move In the peculiar licht o love, As aiblins in Eternity men may When their swack souls nae mair are clogged wi clay. Be thou the licht in which I stand Entire, in thistle-shape, as planned, And no haur-hidden and hauf-seen as here In munelicht, whisky, and in fleshly fear, In fear to look owre closely at The grisly form in which I'm caught, In sic a reelin and imperfect licht Sprung frae incongruous elements the nicht ! But wer't by thou they wer shone on, Then wad I hae nae dreid to con The ugsome problems shapin in my soul, Or gin I hed - certes, nae fear you'd thole ! Be in this fibre like an eye, And ilka turn and twist descry, Hoo here a leaf, a spine, a rose - or as The purpose o the pooer that brings't to pass. Syne liberate me frae this tree, As wha had there imprisoned me, The end achieved - or show me at the least Mair meanin in't, and hope o bein released. |
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I hae heard Eternity drip water [Aye water, water!], drap by drap On the ae nerve, like lichtnin, I've become, And heard God passin wi a bobby's feet Ootby in the lang cofffin o the street - Seen stang by chitterin knottit stang loup oot Uncrushed by th'echoes o the thunderin boot, Till aa the dizzy lint-white lines o torture made A monstrous thistle in the space abbotme, A symbol o the puzzle o man's soul - And in my agony been pridefu' I could still Tine nae least quiver or twist, watch ilka point Like a while-het bodkin ripe my inmaist hert, And aye wi clearer pain that brocht nae anodyne, But rose for ever to a fer crescendo Like eagles that oot soar wi skinklan wings The thieveless sun they blin - And pridefu' still That 'yont the sherp wings o the eagles fleein Aboot the dowless pole o Space, Like leafs aboot a thistle-shank, my bluid Could still throw roses up - And up ! O rootless thistle through the warld that's pairt o you, Gin you'd withsatnd the agonies still to come, You maun send roots doon to the deeps unkent, For deeper that it's possible for ocht to gang, Savin the human soul, Deeper thatn God himsel has knowledge o, Whaur lichtenin canna probe tat cleave the warld, Whaur only in the entire dark there's founts o strength Eternity's poisoned draps can never file, And muckle roots thicken, deef to bobbies' feet. A mony-brainchin candelabra fills The lift and's lowin wi th stars; The Octopus Creation is wallopin In coontless faddoms o a nameless sea. I am the candelabra, and burn My enless candles to an Unkent God. I amd the mind and meanin o the octopus That thraws its empty airms through aa th'Inane. And aa the bizzin suns hae bigged Their kaims upon the surface o the sea. My lips may feast for ever, but my guts Ken naething o the Food o Gods. 'Let there be Licht,' said God, and there was A little: but He lacked the pooer To licht up mair than pairt o space at aince, And there is lots o darkness that's the same As gin He'd never spoken - Mair darkness than there's licht, And dwarfin't to a candle flame, A spalin candle that'll sune gang oot. - Darkness comes closer to us than the licht, And is oor natural element. We peer oot frae't Like cat's een bleezin in goustrous nicht [Whaur there is nocht to find but stars That look like ither cats' een]. Like cats' een, and there is nocht to find Savin we turn them in upon oorsels; Cats canna. Darkness is wi us aa the time, and Licht but veesits pairt o us, the wee-est pairt Fae time to time on short day atween twa nichts. Nae licht is thrawn on them by ony licht. Licht thraws nae licht upon itsel; But in the darknesss them wha's een Nae fleetin lichts hae dazzled and deceived Find qualities o licht, keener than ony licht, Keen and abidin, That show the nicht unto itsel, And syne the licht, That queer extension o the dark, That seems a seperate and a different thing, And seemin sae, has lang confused the dark, And set it at cross-purposes wi itsel. O little Life In which Daith guises and deceives itsel, Joy that maks Grief a Janus Hope that is Despair's fause-face, And Guid and Ill that are the same, Save as the chane licht faas ! And yet the licht is there, Whether frae within or frae withoot, The consciuous Dark can use it, dazzled nor deceived. The licht is there, and th'instinct for it Pairt o the Dark and o the need ot guise, To deceive and be deceived, But let us them be deceived When we deceive When we deceive oorsels, Let us enjoy deciet, this instinct in us. Licht cheenges naething, And gin there is a God wha made the licht We are adapted to receive, He cheenged naething, And hesna kythed Hissel ! Save in this licht that faas whaur the Auld Nicht was, Showin naething that the Darkness didna hide, And gin it shows a pairt o that Confoondin mair that it confides Ev'n in that. The epileptic thistle twiches [A trick o wund or mune or een - or whisky]. A brain laid bare, A nervous system, The skeleton wi which men labour And bring to life in Daith - I risen frae the deid hae seen My deid man's eunuch offspring. - The licht frae bare banes whitening evermair, Frae twitchin nerves thrawn aff, Frae nakit thocht, Works in the Darkness like a fell disease, A hungry acid and a cancer, Dosease o Daith-in-Life and Life-in-Daith O for a root in some untroubled soil, Some cauld soil 'yont this fevered warld, That 'ud draw darkness frae a virgin source, And send it slow and easfu' through my viens, Release the tension o my grisly leafs, Withdraw my endless spikes, Move coonter to the force in me that hauds Me raxed and rigid and ridiculous - And let my roses drap Like punctured baas that at a Fair Faa frae the loupin jet ! - Water again !... |
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Omsk and the Calton turn
again to dust, The wan leafs shak atour
us like the snaw. The thistle rises and forever
will,
Nel suo profondo vidi che
s'interna,
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