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In message <01bf6607$17abc300$LocalHost@default>, pain <[log in to unmask]> writes > >and mention of Hugh Sykes Davies --it reminded me of his beautiful reading >of the poem below. I wonder what happened to him? Any list members have >info on him-- I'd be most grateful. > Davies' Petron (Dent 1935) is worth looking out for & it's a bit surprising it's never been republished. One of the few extended prose poems in English. Perhaps the 'surrealist' tag doesn't help; in some ways it belongs to the dream-journey genre & so has as many English as European antecedents. I heard the recording Stephen refers to on the radio, in the 80s at a guess. Terrific. Has it been issued somewhere? Where did you hear it, Stephen? AH > >Poem >Hugh Sykes Davies > >In the stump of the old tree, where the heart has rotted out, there is a >hole the length of a man's arm, and a dank pool at the bottom of it where >the rain gathers, and the old leaves turn into lacy skeletons. But do not >put your hand down to see, because > >in the stumps of old trees, where the hearts have rotted out, there are >holes the length of a man's arm, and dank pools at the bottom where the rain >gathers and old leaves turn to lace, and the beak of a dead bird gapes like >a trap. But do not put your hand down to see, because > >in the stumps of old trees with rotten hearts, where the rain gathers and >the laced leaves and the dead bird like a trap, there are holes the length >of a man's arm, and in every crevice of the rotten wood grow weasel's eyes >like molluscs, their lids open and shut with the tide. But do not put your >hand down to see, because ... > >... in the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out there are >holes the length of a man's arm where the weasels are trapped and the >letters of the rook language are laced on the sodden leaves, and at the >bottom there is a man's arm. But do not put your hand down to see, because > >in the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out there are deep >holes and dank pools where the rain gathers, and if you ever put your hand >down to see, you can wipe it in the sharp grass till it bleeds, but you'll >never want to eat with it again. > > -- Alan Halsey %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%