名人诗歌|My World Is Pyramid

I

Half of the fellow father as he doubles

His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow hulk，

Half of the fellow mother as she dabbles¹

To-morrow's per in her horny milk，

Bisected shadows on the thunder's bone

Bolt for the salt unborn.

The fellow half was frozen as it bubbled

Corrosive^{2 spring out of the iceberg's crop，}

The fellow seed and shadow as it babbled³

The swing of milk was tufted in the pap，

For half of love was planted in the lost，

And the unplanted ghost.

The broken halves are fellowed in a cripple，

The crutch^{4 that marrow5 taps upon their sleep，}

Limp in the street of sea， among the rabble⁶

Of tide-tongued heads and bladders in the deep，

And stake the sleepers^{8 in the savage9 grave}

That the vampire^{10 laugh.}

The patchwork^{11 halves were cloven as they scudded12}

The wild pigs' wood， and slime upon the trees，

Sucking the dark， kissed on the cyanide，

And loosed the braiding adders^{7 from their hairs，}

Rotating halves are horning as they drill

The arterial angel.

What colour is glory？ death's feather？ tremble

The halves that pierce the pin's point in the air，

And prick^{13 the thumb-stained heaven through the thimble.}

The ghost is dumb that stammered^{14 in the straw，}

The ghost that hatched his havoc^{15 as he flew}

Blinds their cloud-tracking eye.

II

My world is pyramid. The padded mummer

Weeps on the desert ochre and the salt

Incising summer.

My Egypt's armour^{16 buckling17 in its sheet，}

I scrape through resin^{18 to a starry19 bone}

And a blood parhelion.

My world is cypress^{20， and an English valley.}

I piece my flesh that rattled^{21 on the yards}

Red in an Austrian volley.

I hear， through dead men's drums， the riddled^{22 lads，}

Screwing their bowels^{23 from a hill of bones，}

Cry Eloi to the guns.

My grave is watered by the crossing Jordan.

The Arctic scut， and basin of the South，

Drip on my dead house garden.

Who seek me landward， marking in my mouth

The straws of Asia， lose me as I turn

Through the Atlantic corn.

The fellow halves that， cloven as they swivel

On casting tides， are tangled^{24 in the shells，}

Bearding the unborn devil，

Bleed from my burning fork and smell my heels.

The tongue's of heaven gossip as I glide²⁵

Binding^{26 my angel's hood27.}

Who blows death's feather？ What glory is colour？

I blow the stammel feather in the vein^28.

The loin is glory in a working pallor.

My clay unsuckled and my salt unborn，

The secret child， I sift^{29 about the sea}

Dry in the half-tracked thigh^30.