As if I had been on a drunk since I was born And suddenly now, and for the first time, am cold sober,
With all my unanswered wishes and unwashed days Stacked up all around my life; as if through
the ages I had dreamed About some tremendous journey I was taking, Sketching imaginary landscapes, chasms and cities,
Cold walls, hot spaces, wild mouths, defeated backs, Jotting down fictional notes on secrets overheard
In theatres and privies, banks and mountain inns, 1
And now, in my old age, I wake, and this journey really exists, |
And I have actually to take it, inch by inch, Alone and on foot, without a cent in my pocket,
Through a universe where time is not foreshortened, No animals talk, and there is neither floating nor flying. ^
When I am safely home, oceans away in Milan, and t
Realise once and for all I shall never see you again,
Over there, maybe, it won't seem quite so dreadful Not to be interesting any more, but an old man Just like other old men, with eyes that water Easily in the wind, and a head that nods in the sunshine,
Forgetful, maladroit, a little grubby, i
And to like it. When the servants settle me into a chair
In some well-sheltered corner of the garden, And arrange my muffler and rugs, shall I ever be able
To stop myself from telling them what I am doing,— Sailing alone, out over seventy thousand fathoms—?
Yet if I speak, I shall sink without a sound Into unmeaning abysses. Can I learn to suffer
Without saying something ironic or funny On suffering? I never suspected the way of truth Was a way of silence where affectionate chat Is but a robbers' ambush and even good music
In shocking taste; and you, of course, never told me. If I peg away at it honestly every moment, And have luck, perhaps by the time death pounces
His stumping question, I shall just be getting to know The difference between moonshine and daylight.... I see you starting to fidget. I forgot. To you
That doesn't matter. My dear, here comes Gonzalo With a solemn face to fetch me. O Ariel, Ariel,
How I shall miss you. Enjoy your element. Good-bye.
Sing, Ariel, sing, Sweetly, dangerously Out of the sour And shiftless water, Lucidly out Of the dozing tree, Entrancing, rebuking The raging heart With a smoother song Than this rough world, Unfeeling god.
O brilliantly, lightly, Of separation, Of bodies and death, Unanxious one, sing To man, meaning me, As now, meaning always, In love or out, Whatever that mean, Trembling he takes The silent passage Into discomfort.
II The Supporting Cast, Sotta Voce /
ANTONIO f
As all the pigs have turned back into men ,
And the sky is auspicious and the sea Calm as a clock, we can all go home again.
i
Yes, it undoubtedly looks as if we Could take life as easily now as tales Write ever-after: not only are the
Two heads silhouetted against the sails —And kissing, of course—well-built, but the lean Fool is quite a person, the fingernails
Of the dear old butler for once quite clean, And the royal passengers quite as good As rustics, perhaps better, for they mean
What they say, without, as a rustic would, Casting reflections on the courtly crew. Yes, Brother Prospero, your grouping could
Not be more effective: given a few Incomplete objects and a nice warm day, What a lot a little music can do.
Dotted about the deck they doze or play, Your loyal subjects all, grateful enough To know their place and believe what you say.
Antonio, sweet brother, has to laugh. How easy you have made it to refuse Peace to your greatness! Break your wand in half,
The fragments will join; burn your books or lose Them in the sea, they will soon reappear, Not even damaged: as long as I choose
To wear my fashion, whatever you wear Is a magic robe; while I stand outside Your circle, the will to charm is still there.
As I exist so you shall be denied, Forced to remain our melancholy mentor, The grown-up man, the adult in his pride,
Never have time to curl up at the centre Time turns on when completely reconciled, Never become and therefore never enter The green occluded pasture as a child.
Your all is partial, Prospero;
My will is all my own: Your need to love shall never know Me: I am I, Antonio, By choice myself alone.
FERDINAND
Flesh, fair, unique, and you, warm secret that my kiss Follows into meaning Miranda, solitude Where my omissions are, still possible, still good, Dear Other at all times, retained as I do this,
From moment to moment as you enrich them so Inherit me, my cause, as I would cause you now With mine your sudden joy, two wonders as one vow Pre-empting all, here, there, for ever, long ago.
I would smile at no other promise than touch, taste, sight, Were there not, my enough, my exaltation, to bless As world is offered world, as I hear it to-night
n
H
Pleading with ours for us, another tenderness
That neitherwithout either could or would possess,
The Right Required Time, The Real Right Place, 0 Light. '
I
One bed is empty, Prospero, !
My person is my own; Hot Ferdinand will never know The flame with which Antonio Burns in the dark alone.
STEPHANO
Embrace me, belly, like a bride; Dear daughter, for the weight you drew From humble pie and swallowed pride, Believe the boast in which you grew: Where mind meets matter, both should woo; Together let us learn that game
The high play better than the blue: '
A lost thing looks for a lost name. j
Behind your skirts your son must hide
When disappointments bark and boo;
Brush my heroic ghosts aside, I
Wise nanny, with a vulgar pooh:
Exchanging cravings we pursue
Alternately a single aim:"
Between the bottle and the "loo"
A lost thing looks for a lost name.
Though in the long run satisfied, The will of one by being two At every moment is denied; Exhausted glasses wonder who Is self and sovereign, I or You? We cannot both be what we claim, The real Stephano—Which is true? A lost thing looks for a lost name.
Child? Mother? Either grief will do; The need for pardon is the same, The contradiction is not new: A lost thing looks for a lost name.
One glass is untouched, Prospero,
My nature is my own; Inert Stephano does not know The feast at which Antonio Toasts One and One alone.
GONZALO
Evening, grave, immense, and clear,
Overlooks our ship whose wake
Lingers undistorted on
Sea and silence; I look back
For the last time as the sun
Sets behind that island where
All our loves were altered: yes,
My prediction came to pass,
Yet I am not justified,
And I weep but not with pride.
Not in me the credit for
Words I uttered long ago
Whose glad meaning I betrayed;
Truths to-day admitted, owe
Nothing to the councillor
In whose booming eloquence
Honesty became untrue.
Am I not Gonzalo who
By his self-reflection made
Consolation an offence?
There was nothing to explain:
Had I trusted the Absurd
And straightforward note by note
Sung exactly what I heard, Such immediate delight
Would have taken there and then '
Our common welkin by surprise, |
All would have begun to dance
Jigs of self-deliverance. "
It was I prevented this,
Jealous of my native ear,
Mine the art which made the song
Sound ridiculous and wrong,
I whose interference broke
The gallop into jog-trot prose
And by speculation froze
Vision into an idea,