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When I look back I seem to remember singing.
Yet it was always silent in that long warm room.
Impenetrable, those walls, we thought,
Dark with ancient shields. The light
Shone on the head of a girl or young limbs
Spread carelessly. And the low voices
Rose in the silence and were lost as in water.
Yet, for all it was quiet and warm as a hand,
If one of us drew the curtains
A threaded rain blew carelessly outside.
Sometimes a wind crept, swaying the flames,
And set shadows crouching on the walls,
Or a wolf howled in the wide night outside,
And feeling our flesh chilled we drew together.
But for a while the dance went on –
That is how it seems to me now:
Slow forms moving calm through
Pools of light like gold net on the floor.
It might have gone on, dream-like, for ever.
But between one year and the next – a new wind blew ?
The rain rotted the walls at last ?
Wolves’ snouts came thrusting at the fallen beams ?
It is so long ago.
But sometimes I remember the curtained room
And hear the far-off youthful voices singing.
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Fable is © Doris Lessing, and is reprinted here by kind permission of Jonathan Clowes Ltd, London, on behalf of Doris Lessing. Olivia Guest from Jonathan Clowes Ltd
Pictured are two books of published poetry by Nobel Laureate and writer Doris Lessing (1919-2013). I am intrigued by each of the books. I thought to add some information on the status of the books and their current locations, but information is quite scanty. Thus I will be blogging the process.
Fourteen Poems by Doris Lessing , published 1959 by Scorpion Press, is unavailable, although I have located a copy in a library in a university library in Dublin.
The Scorpion Press closed in the 1970s, according to this Wikipedia entry.
Some articles from the press were obtained by the McFarlin Library, Special Collections at the University of Tulsa. I am adding here the link.
The original link (Lessing’s Scorpion/ Northwood titles) details the names of the Fourteen Poems which were published in 1959,
McFarlin obtained Lessing’s correspondence in relation to the pamphlet: Lessing, Doris Correspondence in reference to Fourteen Poems.
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The list of poems from The Inpopa Anthology 2002 are:
Both sets of poems from Ms Lessing’s Opus are listed in her published works, I for one, am incredibly curious to read her poetic writing and have applied for more information to the special collections at the McFarlin Library at Tulsa University. I will update this post when I get more information about the poems. |
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I am adding here Lessing’s list of published works
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Thanks to Alison Greenlee, Special Collections Librarian at the University of Tulsa, for information about the Scorpion Press archive.
by Margaret Fuller.
We deemed the secret lost, the spirit gone,
Which spake in Greek simplicity of thought,
And in forms of gods and heroes wrought
Eternal beauty from the sculptured stone,-
A higher charm than modern culture won
With all the wealth of metaphysic won
With all the wealth of metaphysic lore,
Gifted to analyze, dissect, explore.
A many-coloured light flows from one sun;
Art, ‘neath its beams, a motley thread was spun;
The prism modifies the perfect day;
But thou hast known such mediums to shun,
And cast once more on life a pure, white ray.
Absorbed in the creations of thy mind,
Forgetting daily self, my truest self I find.
This poem comes from the wonderful Norton Anthology, The Making Of A Sonnet, Edited by Edward Hirsch and poet Eavan Boland, Norton, 2008. Information on Margaret Fuller’s feminism, journalism and poetry can be gotten from her Wikipedia page and online. In the context of discussions begun by VIDA on women reviewers,poets and literatry advocates, I thought it an excellent idea to place here a poem by the first full-time female book-reviewer in journalism. Calls have been made to explain the absences of women from the 2010 lists. I am adding in here the relevant links :
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Wherever we turn in the storm of roses,
the night is lit up by thorns, and the thunder
of leaves, once so quiet within the bushes,
rumbling at our heels.
Source: In the Storm of Roses (translator unknown) by Ingeborg Bachmann.