Merry Is The Womb Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Merry is the womb
It feels the Spring air though
In winter on the fringe
Was I born of sweet Spring:
Merry is the womb
For prophet be unto itself
And it joys modest in
The Future’s self: see
Motion view Motion that will come
The Brain and Thought run more
Than the Physical: though both
Are same trains yet not parallel:
The one before the other runs
Both at the same place arrive:
So one that arrives first
Makes prophecy to the other of
What is saw which will then
Be what the last arriving train will see:
See, see, the Ghost in the Machine,
Descartes’ criticisms, all dispelled
And the solution in a few verses compressed.



O Orient you must to-night work
Work what you should before arises
The coming of the Dawn day’s genesis:
Come close your eyes
Taste of the wine
Drink deep: for deep
The pitcher has cooled in the earth:
Come, close your eyes and
Sleep.
Ninny nanny, sing a ditty!
Come Orient close your eyes and
Taste of wine!
Put round your head the Bacchanalian ivy,
The green that sparkles so in the moon’s light!
O Orient!



*

Small bells, my Monsignor, that in the Time
Of the Waning Day,
That in the Time of the Pining Day,
From the small chapel top, there,
Lost in the country-side and plain
Amidst the zigzag of country roads
Wandering hither and thither
By chance into each other reciprocal
The better to blind the traveler:
Confusion will you say?
Utter, small bells, those notes wild
That I heard yesterday at vesper as
The red dusk fell into the sea
Accompanying the previous Sun
That dipped:
Small bells, arise on magic nights
On spells of witches on brooms flying
Violet lights, transforming continually
Quantum physics, patches of the tiny
Amidst those immense plains of desert hope:
And in that night of cold and winter storm
Far, far away hidden in a cave shivering
Lay half-hidden the fair Dawn awaiting.


Tere weri serim kele
Ghali vreris heri sepre
They rhyme – those words
Those words of a tongue of tongues
So many tongues – all with a right