Robert Alden Sanborn - 5 Short Poems (1915-1917)

Forgotten Poets #81

    
              —: Soul of the Lotus I :—
                       (To Hasegawa)

       A white lamp,
                       hanging—
       In its mouth a pink pearl
                       of flame—
       Swinging
               by three strands of light . . .
       A pool          beneath,
       Quaint and secret          as mud . . .
    

    
              —: The Water-Front :—

       On the checker-board,
       Sky squares and water squares—

       Tipsy tugs,
       pert stacks,
       queening at the dock . . .

       On the checker-board,
       Black sea,
       White sky,
       kissing corners . . .

       Slow steam        squirms,
       eludes the air . . .

       Oh      the salty little clams.
       Sniffing!
    

    
              —: Mauve :—

       The rhythm of the sea
       Is blent     in undulations of gray satin . . .

       The ashes of burned violets      drift
                                               over a sky . . .
       And blurred,
                       a magical seed of light
       Breaks      in the whorls of a strange flower!

       Did you ever see a flower
       With core of tarnished silver
                                    and five black petals?
    

    
                —: To Walden :—

        The stillness of anemones,
        Filling with moonlight . . .

        Listen, child:
        Gather the folds of your dream
        Close about you,
        And heed not
        The hand of time—
        Ingratiating,
        Jingling with hours,
        Bright hours,
        Gaudy . . .

        (Do not be tempted to sell him
        Your childhood)

        But I,
        I have nothing to offer,
        And nothing to ask
        But love—

        Love that is hushed—

        Still as anemones,
        Filling with moonlight.
      

     
              —: Dust To Dust :—

        Earth will have its own,
        Yes, for Death deals the law;
        Lay me in waves for a green winding sheet,
        Crown me with stone with a stone at my feet,
        Yet will my heavy shroud lower me down,
        Yet will earth and my body meet.
        Earth will have its own.

        Earth will have its own.
        What will bear me so high;
        Though stars stare around me out of the dark,
        And the Earth is a dull coal below in the dark?
        Yet through dark will the dust of my body fall,
        Yet will earth and my body meet.
        Earth will have its own.
     

Robert Alden Sanborn (1877-1966) was born in Boston, Massachusetts, and later moved to New York, to be a part of the underground arts scene, publishing ‘new verse’ in The Poetry Journal, Others, Poetry, and Broom. Also wrote novels, short-stories, and articles on film and poetry; “[Poetry is] a moment of vision caught in a net of beauty.” (The Poetry Journal, 1916)

“Since leaving college I have been and still am studying, travelling, and writing. I am unable as yet to be more definite. In the six years I have engaged regularly in government forestry work, newspaper work in Springfield and New London, Connecticut, and irregularly in various kinds of literary labor. I am now on my way to Washington State on a venture. I shall take pleasure in informing you when anything really important happens in my life.” (Harvard College Class of 1900: Second Report, 1906)

    
               —: After Robert Sanborn :—
                           by Dick Whyte

              I.

       earth tell me
       why

       i am tired
       all
       the time

              II.

       in the rust of sun
       set,

       overwhelmed
       & under
       whelming

              III.

       poking
       out my tongue

       the god
       of lips and teeth
       revisited

              IV.

       like a sack of mud
       i drag
       my bones & skin

       to the builders
       of grass

              V.

       horizons
       cannot be made

       they must be
       opened
       like flowers & eyes

              VI.

       oh sky
       shut your mouth,

       & let tomorrow
       be a furnace
       of joy
    

Forgotten Poets Presents:

Forgotten Poems, a living anthology of obscure and out-of-print poetry from the late-1800s and early-1900s. Explore the archives:

More poems about the earth . . .

More poems about children . . .

More poems about the sea . . .

More poems about flowers . . .