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قراءة كتاب Arthur Machen: A Novelist of Ecstasy and Sin With Two Uncollected Poems by Arthur Machen
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Arthur Machen: A Novelist of Ecstasy and Sin With Two Uncollected Poems by Arthur Machen
with the case.
We are going to be asked, post-mortem, why we allowed Ambrose Bierce to vanish from our midst, unnoticed and unsought, after ignoring him shamefully throughout his career; why Stephen Crane, after a few flamboyant reviews, was so quickly forgotten at death; why Richard Middleton was permitted to swallow his poison at Brussels; why W.C. Morrow and Walter Blackburn Harte were in our day known only to the initiated, discriminating few; their fine, golden books merely rare "items" for the collector. Among other things, posterity is going to demand of us why, when the opportunity was ours, we did not open our hearts to Arthur Machen and name him among the very great.
[1] I have let this last assertion stand as part of the original article, although Mr. Machen writes me that I am in error. "I never read a line of Baudelaire," he says, "but I have read deeply in Poe, who, I believe, derives largely from Baudelaire." Of course, it is the other way 'round, Baudelaire derives from Poe, but my own assumption is rendered clear.—V.S.
THE REMEMBRANCE OF THE BARD
In the darkness of old age let not my memory
fail:
Let me not forget to celebrate the beloved land
of Gwent.
If they imprison me in a deep place, in a house
of pestilence,
Still shall I be free, remembering the sunshine
upon Mynydd Maen.
There have I listened to the song of the lark,
my soul has ascended with the song of the
little bird:
The great white clouds were the ships of my
spirit, sailing to the haven of the Almighty.
Equally to be held in honour is the site of the
Great Mountain.
Adorned with the gushing of many waters—
sweet is the shade of its hazel thickets.
There a treasure is preserved which I will not
celebrate;
It is glorious and deeply concealed.
If Teils should return, if happiness were restored
to the Cymri,
Dewi and Dyfrig should serve his Mass; then a
great marvel would be made visible.
O blessed and miraculous work! then should my
bliss be as the joy of angels.
I had rather behold this offering than kiss the
twin lips of dark Gwenllian.
Dear my land of Gwent: O quam dilecta tabernacula.
Thy rivers are like precious golden streams of
Paradise, thy hills are as the Mount Syon.
Better a grave on Twyn Barlwm than a throne
in the palace of the Saxons at Caer-Ludd.
ARTHUR MACHEN
THE PRAISE OF MYFANWY
O gift of the everlasting:
O wonderful and hidden mystery.
Many secrets have been vouchsafed to me,
I have been long acquainted with the wisdom
of the trees;
Ash and oak and elm have communicated to me