An incident here and there

[sovay]

. . . Pompeii has nothing to teach us,
we know crack of volcanic fissure,
slow flow of terrible lava,

pressure on heart, lungs, the brain
about to burst in its brittle case
(what the skull can endure!):

over us, Apocryphal fire,
under us, the earth sway, dip of a floor,
slope of a pavement

where men roll, drunk
with a new bewilderment,
sorcery, bedevilment:

the bone-frame was made for
no such shock knit within terror,
yet the skeleton stood up to it:

the flesh? it was melted away,
the heart burnt out, dead ember,
tendons, muscles shattered, outer husk dismembered,

yet the frame held:
we passed the flame . . .
—H.D., "The Walls Do Not Fall"

I have nothing to say about what has happened in London that has not already been said by people closer and more eloquent, except that it sickens me. That people can stand up to terrible shocks and strains is marvelous; that under such circumstances they can be tough and practical, speak kindly to strangers and get on with their lives, amazes me. But no one should ever have to. Anywhere; ever. That's all.

Comments

[shewhomust.livejournal.com]

Thank you for this extraordinary - and very apt - poem: I'd only come across HD as a footnote in other people's stories.

Anywhere; ever.

Yes, whatever we say and think about what happened in London, yesterday, Anywhere; ever is the context it has to stand in.

[sovay]

"The Walls Do Not Fall" is the first section of H.D.'s Trilogy, written in London during the Blitz; the other two are "Tribute to the Angels" and "The Flowering of the Rod," and the whole cycle overall was the first poetry of hers I read when I knew who she was. They might be a good place to start, if you wanted to read her. She is very good.