Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Arthur Seymour John Tessimond (Birkenhead, July 19, 1902 - Chelsea, London May 13, 1962) was an English poet.
He went to Charterhouse School, but ran away at age 16. After studying at Liverpool University, he moved to London where he worked in bookshops, and also as a copywriter.
After avoiding military service in World War II, he later discovered he was unfit for service.
An eccentric and an Imagist, Tessimond wrote astute, elegant, urban poetry. He suffered from bipolar disorder, and received electro-convulsive therapy.
He first began to publish in the 1920s in literary magazines. He was to see three volumes of poetry were published during his ... more »
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Arthur Seymour John Tessimond Poems
The Man In The Bowler Hat
I am the unnoticed, the unnoticable man: The man who sat on your right in the morning train: The man who looked through like a windowpane: The man who was the colour of the carriage, the colour of the mounting
The birch tree in winter Leaning over the secret pool Is Narcissus in love With the slight white branches,
Cats no less liquid than their shadows Offer no angles to the wind. They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes Less than themselves; will not be pinned
One day people will touch and talk perhaps easily, And loving be natural as breathing and warm as sunlight,
Not Love Perhaps
This is not Love, perhaps, Love that lays down its life, that many waters cannot quench, nor the floods drown,
Attack On The Ad-Man
This trumpeter of nothingness, employed To keep our reason dull and null and void. This man of wind and froth and flux will sell The wares of any who reward him well.
This shape without space, This pattern without stuff, This stream without dimension Surrounds us, flows through us,
If a man says half himself in the light, adroit Way a tune shakes into equilibrium, Or approximates to a note that never comes:
Light's patterns freeze: Frost on our faces. Light's pollen sifts Through the lids of our eyes ...
Any Man Speaks
I, after difficult entry through my mother's blood And stumbling childhood (hitting my head against the world); I, intricate, easily unshipped, untracked, unaligned; Cut off in my communications; stammering; speaking
When you are slightly drunk Things are so close, so friendly. The road asks to be walked upon, The road rewards you for walking
Cocoon For A Skeleton
Clothes: to compose The furtive, lone Pillar of bone To some repose.
The clock disserts on punctuation, syntax. The clock's voice, thin and dry, asserts, repeats. The clock insists: a lecturer demonstrating, Loudly, with finger raised, when the class has gone.
To walk as you walk, green eye, smiler, not Even ostentatiously alone but simply Alone ... arching the back in courteous discourtesy, Gathering the body as a dancer before an unworthy
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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The Man In The Bowler Hat
I am the unnoticed, the unnoticable man:
The man who sat on your right in the morning train:
The man who looked through like a windowpane:
The man who was the colour of the carriage, the colour of the mounting
Morning pipe smoke.
I am the man too busy with a living to live,
Too hurried and worried to see and smell and touch:
The man who is patient too long and obeys too much
And wishes too softly and seldom.
I am the man they call the nation's backbone,
Who am boneless - playable catgut, pliable clay:
The Man they label Little lest one day
I dare to ...