T.S.Eliot Reading "Landscapes"

I found this quite by accident recently, whilst doing a Google search on "no concurrence of bone". Those words were triggered in my memory when discussing with an old friend the last line "And Zero at the Bone" in Emily Dickinson's "A narrow Fellow in the Grass". 

Thanks to this random thread of events, the piece now also appears on the T.S.Eliot Society website at www.tseliotsociety.uk

T.S. Eliot reads Landscapes from Don Yorty on Vimeo.

I. New Hampshire

Children's voices in the orchard
Between the blossom- and the fruit-time:
Golden head, crimson head,
Between the green tip and the root.
Black wing, brown wing, hover over;
Twenty years and the spring is over;
To-day grieves and to-morrow grieves,
Cover me over, light-in-leaves;
Golden head, black wing,
Cling,swing,
Spring,sing,
Swing up into the apple-tree.

II. Virginia

Red river, red river,
Slow flow heat is silence
No will is still as a river
Still. Will heat move
Only through the mocking-bird
Heard once? Still hills
Wait. Gates wait. Purple trees,
White trees, wait, wait,
Delay, decay. Living, living,
Never moving. Ever moving
Iron thoughts came with me
And go with me:
Red river river river.

III. Usk

Do not suddenly break the branch, or
Hope to find
The white hart behind the white well.
Glance aside, not for lance, do not spell
Old enchantments. Let them sleep.
"Gently dip, but not too deep,"
Lift your eyes
Where the roads dip and where the roads rise
Seek only there
Where the grey light meets the green air
The hermit's chapel, the pilgrim's prayer.

IV. Rannoch, by Glencoe

Here the crow starves, here the patient stag
Breeds for the the rifle. Between the soft moor
and the soft sky, scarcely room
To leap or to soar. Substance crumbles, in the thin air
Moon cold or moon hot. The road winds in
Listlessness of ancient war,
Langour of broken steel,
Clamour of confused wrong, apt
In silence. Memory is strong
Beyond the bone. Pride snapped,
Shadow of pride is long, in the long pass
No concurrence of bone.

V. Cape Ann

O quick quick quick, quick hear the song sparrow,
Swamp-sparrow, fox-sparrow, vesper-sparrow
At dawn and dusk. Follow the dance
Of goldfinch at noon. Leave to chance
The Blackburnian warbler, the shy one. Hail
With shrill whistle the note of the quail, the bob-white
Dodging the bay-bush. Follow the feet
Of the walker, the water-thrush. Follow the flight
Of the dancing arrow, the purple martin. Greet
In silence the bullbat. All are delectable. Sweet sweet sweet
But resign this land at the end, resign it
To its true owner, the tough one, the sea-gull.
The palaver is finished.

1933-1934

Peter Green

Peter Green was a brilliant team player. As well as a gentle soul and unique genius.

The original Fleetwood Mac demonstrates this in spades: 3 brilliant guitarists with their own unique styles, with the solid Fleetwood/McVie rhythm section holding it all down.

The Peter Green Splinter Group saw the man re-emerging with all the old powers in place, with a band of musical excellence and mutual nurture.

 Examples:

The original Fleetwood Mac at their zenith  

The Peter Green Splinter Group 2003:

[  YouTube Link:  Copyright reasons disallow the video itself to be embedded here, sorry! ]

Behind the music there are all those stories. And in the music, and its inter-song presentation in the second video, there is food for woke vigilantes to chew on.

None of it matters. There is transcendence here.

Wind-in-Pines Remembered

These are a few snatched images from old notebooks and albums stored away for almost a half-century. How well I was looked after - with my travelling buddy Bob - by the Burnham family in those Summer 1972 days! It was a special time. Why I took no more photos is a mystery. Though of course, a Kodak Instamatic and a couple of 24-frame film rolls was all I seemed to think was enough for a 3-month sojourn in the USA. But in recompense, the memories of Sebago Lake remain fixed vivid in the mind.

How we enjoyed creating this! Long gone now I'm sure

Wind-in-Pines

Not far, though it seems an age; yet
No eternity, just an instant in time.
Here is another country; here
City vapours vanish, and sweet air
Whistles the wind-song sifting in Pines.

The rain is music in the forest trees
And the mingling of a past and present falling
Softens the carpet of ground for a transient listener.

Here is a new song, yet scarcely
Dare I listen, dare
Scarcely touch the brittle stems
Perennial
Yet only of a moment’s time.

Sebago Lake, Maine
June 22nd 1972