Through Out The Birth Of The New Day Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Through out the birth of the new day
There was the birth of a New Year
Silver confetti fell
From the heavens
The dews, the night dews that
Fall on the grass, fell,
Fragments
Fragments
And the church bells started ringing
Early:
And the streets were deserted early
In the day
As till almost noon
The people celebrating New Year’s Eve
Slept in the Sub-Conscious while
The Conscious Dawn presided over where
The New Year entered port in the old town.



In the menu that Dawn brought with her
For to-day New Year's Day there was
the special and the not so special:
Special rang the tunes of the church bells
different from other holidays:
overdue after all!
New Year's Day!
But the old city dressed as it had dressed
the day before
and the day before that
and before that for centuries
old in the memories of ancient times:
and the people
who survived into the New Year survived
either as flesh or blood or else as ghosts
the former in the morning streets
the latter in the Night swarmed
to the old town in hordes and shrouds
and there rose high a long sad lament
an All in One, and One in All
to the sad heavens and stars.


I wish for Fog yesterday: long through
the year this wish in my Sub-Conscious hid
but
now with the guillotine falling
on the Old Year's head it rose
restless and restless
in the Deep Soul it rose like to
an Egyptian snake of magic dazzling spells
could I resist?
Wanted I to resist?
And in the mist I had the Fog I yearned for
though little the mist over the cold port
in the cold early hours of New Day
Soon at the first touches of the Sun dispelled.


Slow, slow, the verses flow -
the water murky turned in to the river
and dense and loaded it moved so and so -
it was a sort of Styx - yet burned not -
but
rather chill under the drear winter heavens
flowed discontented and unwilling:
so
my verses flow, do flow, but slow,
crawl in the violet light of a waning day
But they had their time too - let me say
and so
slow, slow the verses flow, this dusk.


The rain was falling.
Though no snow fell
the wind of frost neighed through
the boughs and trees
that huddled in the wood like naked
men and women in that tempest hoar:
The rain was falling.
Deep,
deep the water pencils fell adown
the window-panes condensed with
breath of the humans inside and
with the warmth of stoves and
lights and some ancient chimney-hearths.
Ah! the old city, the old town
how many chimneys here and there
old and grimy on their faces hurled
the winter tempest in its orgy wild.


Then in that Time there danced
Masks in a place by the woods
where
the trees shivered and trembled
in the frost and chill.
Yet the Masks danced, danced
silent:
some on human feet; some manifested
on all fours; some a tail beneath
the frac of white or black
but behind a Mask
all faces are the same and equal stand.


And then of sudden there came a sound
strange as if from the nether earth
from soils damp and wet arising;
and
it sang in a strange microphone tongue
'Be merry sirs, no human sees
Hum, hum around like nightly bees
Or like the crickets on the summer nights.
But merry be.
The waters trickle.
The gutters full.
Slope the water-rains.
The heavens open remain.
Rain falls.
Thunder opens white in rage
its mouth.
Then vibrating Earth
it sounds.
One after another Light
after Light
the Thunder goes.
One after another Sound
after Sound
the Thunder goes.
And the day is in throes.
The red dusk fled.
Throne has been left
Into the hands of night.
Be merry, Sirs, the storm
Has ushered humans in:
To their warm hearth and home
And most now sleep profound
Go round, round and round
For no human espies
Long, long and far
the Dawn be; your faces
have many hours to whiten
with pale fear of new Dawn and Day.
Be merry, dance, round
and round,
without a sound, silent,
ghosts and shrouds, animal,
bust and All, dance, merry be:
The storm will last as long
As the night be with me.'
So said the Voice then stopped.


And the Masks turned and turned.
Slow they danced with measured steps.
Studied each step and pace and slow.
And the Masks turned and turned.
And though the winds
that Zephyr sent to blow such
frost and dreary chill
yet they touched not the Masks
that underneath their identity hid:
and reveled in the mystery of it.


There was a Boar’s Head:
Tall and high,
he towered above all, and his feet
brown and far from human stood,
yet
with calculated paces round and round
he went.


There was a Sphinx Head
and mystery added all around
silent it moved yet
with the rest it moved and danced


There was a Head that like a Sibyl
grinned; behind was it a Sibyl
or else?
Still like the others danced
As all danced mechanical
Unearthly and ghastly their look
And more since mid-night struck
the more.


There was a Skeleton Head:
though somewhat exposed
it was made so that all the zones
were covered that were not white bones:
mysterious, mysterious danced it
in that cavalcade of dark and silent din.


There was an Artist's Head:
This the most mysterious Mask
For under it, it hid some Artist who
Long, long ago in his wild reveries
Painted the walls of his house with
strange shapes and things:
this made him more than welcome guest
and all more wanted to this ghastly feast.


Then, then again the eerie Voice
That dread
Spread through its nasal microphone
Chanted again as if by sheer programming:
'Be merry sirs, no human sees
Hum, hum around like nightly bees
Or like the crickets on the summer nights.
But merry be.
The waters trickle.
The gutters full.
Slope the water-rains.
The heavens open remain.
Rain falls.
Thunder opens white in rage
its mouth.
Then vibrating Earth
it sounds.
One after another Light
after Light
the Thunder goes.
One after another Sound
after Sound
the Thunder goes.
And the day is in throes.
The red dusk fled.
Throne has been left
Into the hands of night.
Be merry, Sirs, the storm
Has ushered humans in:
To their warm hearth and home
And most now sleep profound
Go round, round and round
For no human espies
Long, long and far
the Dawn be; your faces
have many hours to whiten
with pale fear of new Dawn and Day.
Be merry, dance, round
and round,
without a sound, silent,
ghosts and shrouds, animal,
bust and All, dance, merry be:
The storm will last as long
As the night be with me.'
So said the Voice then stopped.


And the Masks turned and turned.
Slow they danced with measured steps.
Studied each step and pace and slow.
And the Masks turned and turned.
And though the winds
that Zephyr sent to blow such
frost and dreary chill
yet they touched not the Masks
that underneath their identity hid:
and reveled in the mystery of it.


But ah! The hours fly though
Danced they slow:
The measured paces served not
To delay the motion of Time:
And soon
One called – it was the Voice –
That spoke in to a nasal microphone –
‘Look the Dawn within the hour
Will on the shore pebbles be
Treading: prepare you
To Vanish in the airs and Vapors Blue
Whence in the night’s beginning came you.’

Then all the Masks of sudden stopped.
Then all the Masks bent gracefully.
Then all the Masks farewell partook
Each to each, with respectful reciprocity.
And soon in the air as the night-stars
One by one light at the flight of
Red dusk – so these Masks in the Air
And Vapors Blue within less than minutes
Five
Disappeared and on the place
There stood the trees a-shivering
And the wind still blowing wild
And the rain falling, and the chill
And frost and the rain pattering.


Call after call I will not cease
To tell you to reproduce: while
You still breathe though slow,
Though obesity
Makes you in danger and increases it:
Yet
The more so you should thrive
And your blood to delirium warm
Even if it be the coldest winter day
To make new children in your wake.


Shakespeare had sung this too: wisdom
On this unite us.
If his country and mine had but two rivers
Principal we would have joined them:
But
Shakespeare has his Thames and I have no
River.
Therefore we can join the Thames to the
Mediterranean sea.


Breathe, breathe, Greek breath, the pines
Are hanging down for they pined
At the parting of the red dusk:
And since they bent their head
They will not rise, no, not even
Night-stars lighting after the other
Will do the trick: they still bend
And further bend as the night deepens in
Even though the winter chill bites not.


If you do not versify in the level
If you do feel your hand
Reach to the high peaks
Where at least the clouds soar
Or better
Higher than the clouds:
Then retire speak not, write not
And think and wait.


Then
The bells rang
Then
The chapel lighted
Then
The country lanes in the dust
Then
The horse was heard coming
Then
The hooves were heard beating
Then
The dust was seen flying:
Then
The seas dark were moon shining
Then
The horseman crossed the edge
Then
He dropped slow into the sea and safe
Then
The horseman and horse walked on the sea
Then
Night when they passed yielded to Dawn
Then
The legend had been consummated.