The Poet Of The New School Speaks
I'm great and
I know it.
People can't understand me.
I can't understand myself.
I don't want to.
If I did understand myself
I wouldn't be great.
Listen now:
'The moon reels and the
Phantom passes twice and thrice
The death damp hand
Across my brow.
O what of joy?
O - what of grief?
Darkness—blank — a sob in the throat.
O phantom, phantom, phantom!'
Pretty good, eh?
Especially if it has
Some little, smudgy, inky
Pictures strung along the edges.
I used to write about
Men and women, back yards,
Plain courtships, flowers and other things
That people understood.
Now I write lines that have
No meaning, because they are
Fragments of dreams that
Were never dreamt.
' A soul writhed long
In its purple belongings.
O drip of blood!
O drip of blood!
Caught up in the wan hand of sleep
And clotted with the dawn.'
Do you notice the ' O '—
The upper-case ' O ' ?
I use that a great deal.
If anyone will tell me
What I am writing about
I will let him smoke my
Opium pipe all afternoon.
These little, twisted,
Ugly, whirligig pictures
Have nothing to do with
The lines I am writing.
If I tell about a midnight trance,
I have a picture of a sunrise.
If the lines mention something
About a maiden with snaky hair
The picture is that of a demon
With a forked tail.
This is genius.
The world didn't find it out
Until last year.
There are but two colors
In all this world — yellow
And another shade of yellow.
I am very yellow myself,
But people say I am great.
I write my stuff on yellow paper
And use yellow ink.
Excuse me for awhile;
I'm full of hop.
He has pretension pegged. Good for him. In an effort to appear dark and deep and philosophically advanced some follow the Dada train and do not see the mockery
Total nonsense but entertaining. I know one poet on this site who deliberately (on occasion) writes something that has no meaning at all, then sits back and laughs as others lavish praise on it.
Reading the Yellow Yellow poem is a great fun. Its quite enjoyable and one should enjoy without making effort to find meaning of every thing said. Thanks for sharing on PH.
And another shade of yellow. I am very yellow myself, But people say I am great. I write my stuff on yellow paper And use yellow ink. Excuse me for awhile; I'm full of hop.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Drip of blood! With the ways of life. Nice work.