The soft quem quam will be Scops the Owl
conjugation of nouns, a line of enquiry,
powdery stubble of the socratic prison
laurels crack like parchments in the wind.
who walks here in the violet dust at night
by the tower of the winds and water-clocks?
tapers smoke upon open coffins
surely the shattered pitchers must one day
revive in the gush of marble breathing up?
call again softly, and again.
the fresh spring empties like a vein
no children spit on their reflected faces
but from the blazing souk below the passive smells
bread urine cooking printing-ink
will tell you what the sullen races think
and among the tombs gnawing of mandolines
confounding sleep with carnage where
strangers arrive like sleepy gods
dismount at nightfall at desolate inns.
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Comments2I remember stumbling upon this poem in my earlier school years. It's intriguing how the poet intertwines vivid and unique imagery to capture one's emotions so beautifully. Yet it's challenging to unpack the embedded intent, with references to culture, history, and somber reality of life. Could someone perhaps shed some light on the connection between these elements? It's like deciphering a cryptic yet fascinating puzzle.
I read this Durrell poem years ago, still makes me ponder 🤔 It's unique and thought-provoking, full of expression 📖.