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Poems by Katherine Mansfield
Poems: 1909–10
Poems: 1909–10
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In the Rangitaki Valley
o valley of waving broom,
O lovely, lovely light,
O heart of the world, red-gold !
Breast high in the blossom I stand;
It beats about me like waves
Of a magical, golden sea.
The barren heart of the world
Alive at the kiss of the sun,
The yellow mantle of Summer
Flung over a laughing land,
Warm with the warmth of her body,
Sweet with the kiss of her breath.
O valley of waving broom,
O lovely, lovely light,
O mystical marriage of Earth
With the passionate Summer sun !
To her lover she holds a cup
And the yellow wine o'erflows.
He has lighted a little torch
And the whole of the world is ablaze.
Prodigal wealth of love !
Breast high in the blossom I stand.
1909.
Spring Wind in London
I blow across the stagnant world,
I blow across the sea,
For me, the sailor's flag unfurled,
For me, the uprooted tree.
My challenge to the world is hurled;
The world must bow to me.
I drive the clouds across the sky,
I huddle them like sheep;
Merciless shepherd-dog am I
And shepherd-watch I keep.
If in the quiet vales they lie
I blow them up the steep.
Lo !In the tree-tops do I hide,
In every living thing;
On the moon's yellow wings I glide,
On the wild rose I swing;
On the sea-horse's back I ride,
And what then do I bring ?
And when a little child is ill
I pause, and with my hand
I wave the window curtain's frill
That he may understand
Outside the wind is blowing still.
… It is a pleasant land.
O stranger in a foreign place,
See what I bring to you.
This rain—is tears upon your face;
I tell you—tell you true
I came from that forgotten place
Where once the wattle grew.
All the wild sweetness of the flower
Tangled against the wall.
It was that magic, silent hour. …
The branches grew so tall
They twined themselves into a bower.
The sun shone … and the fall
Of yellow blossom on the grass !
You feel that golden rain ?
Both of you could not hold, alas,
(Both of you tried—in vain)
A memory, stranger. So I pass. …
It will not come again.
1909.
Butterfly Laughter
In the middle of our porridge plates
There was a blue butterfly painted
And each morning we tried who should reach the butterfly first.
Then the Grandmother said : “Do not eat the poor butterfly.”
That made us laugh.
Always she said it and always it started us laughing.
It seemed such a sweet little joke.
I was certain that one fine morning
The butterfly would fly out of the plates,
Laughing the teeniest laugh in the world,
And perch on the Grandmother's lap.
The Candle
By my bed, on a little round table
The Grandmother placed a candle.
She gave me three kisses telling me they were three dreams
And tucked me in just where I loved being tucked.
Then she went out of the room and the door was shut.
I lay still, waiting for my three dreams to talk;
But they were silent.
Suddenly I remembered giving her three kisses back.
Perhaps, by mistake, I had given my three little dreams.
I sat up in bed.
The room grew big, oh, bigger far than a church.
The wardrobe, quite by itself, as big as a house.
And the jug on the washstand smiled at me :
It was not a friendly smile.
I looked at the basket-chair where my clothes lay folded :
The chair gave a creak as though it were listening for something.
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Perhaps it was coming alive and going to dress in my clothes.
But the awful thing was the window :
I could not think what was outside.
No tree to be seen, I was sure,
No nice little plant or friendly pebbly path.
Why did she pull the blind down every night ?
It was better to know.
I crunched my teeth and crept out of bed,
I peeped through a slit of the blind.
There was nothing at all to be seen.
But hundreds of friendly candles all over the sky
In remembrance of frightened children.
I went back to bed …
The three dreams started singing a little song.
Little Brother's Secret
When my birthday was coming
Little Brother had a secret :
He kept it for days and days
And just hummed a little tune when I asked him.
But one night it rained
And I woke up and heard him crying :
Then he told me.
“I planted two lumps of sugar in your garden
Because you love it so frightfully
I thought there would be a whole sugar tree for your birthday,
And now it will all be melted.”
O the darling !
Little Brother's Story
We sat in front of the fire;
Grandmother was in the rocking chair doing her knitting
And Little Brother and I were lying down flat.
“Please tell us a story, Grandmother,” we said.
But she put her head on one side and began counting the stitches,
“Suppose you tell me one instead.”
I made up one about a spotted tiger
That had a knot in his tail;
But though I liked this about the knot,
I did not know why it was put there.
So I said : “Little Brother's turn.”
“I know a perfect story,” he cried, waving his hands.
Grandmother laid down her knitting.
“Do tell us, dear.”
“Once upon a time there was a bad little girl
And her Mummy gave her the slipper, and that's all.”
It was not a very special story.
But we pretended to be very pleased
And Grandmother gave him jumps on her lap.
The Man with the Wooden Leg
There was a man lived quite near us;
He had a wooden leg and a goldfinch in a green cage.
His name was Farkey Anderson,
And he'd been in a war to get his leg.
We were very sad about him,
Because he had such a beautiful smile
And was such a big man to live in a very small house.
When he walked on the road his leg did not matter so much;
But when he walked in his little house
It made an ugly noise.
Little Brother said his goldfinch sang the loudest of all birds,
So that he should not hear his poor leg
And feel too sorry about it.
When I was a Bird
I climbed up the karaka tree
Into a nest all made of leaves
But soft as feathers.
I made up a song that went on singing all by itself
And hadn't any words, but got sad at the end.
There were daisies in the grass under the tree.
I said just to try them :
“I'll bite off your heads and give them to my little children to eat.”
But they didn't believe I was a bird;
They stayed quite open.
The sky was like a blue nest with white feathers
And the sun was the mother bird keeping it warm.
That's what my song said : though it hadn't any words.
Little Brother came up the path, wheeling his barrow.
I made my dress into wings and kept very quiet.
Then when he was quite near I said : “Sweet, sweet !”
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For a moment he looked quite startled;
Then he said : “Pooh, you're not a bird; I can see your legs.”
But the daisies didn't really matter,
And Little Brother didn't really matter;
I felt just like a bird.
The Arabian Shawl
“It is cold outside, you will need a coat—
What ! this old Arabian shawl !
Bind it about your head and throat,
These steps … it is dark … my hand … you might fall.”
What has happened ? What strange, sweet charm
Lingers about the Arabian shawl …
Do not tremble so ! There can be no harm
In just remembering—that is all.
“I love you so—I will be your wife,”
Here, in the dark of the Terrace wall,
Say it again. Let that other life
Fold us like the Arabian shawl.
“Do you remember ?”…“I quite forget,
Some childish foolishness, that is all,
To-night is the first time we have met …
Let me take off my Arabian shawl !”
Sleeping Together
Sleeping together … how tired you were ! …
How warm our room … how the firelight spread
On walls and ceiling and great white bed !
We spoke in whispers as children do,
And now it was I-and then it was you
Slept a moment, to wake-“My dear,
I'm not at all sleepy,” one of us said. …
Was it a thousand years ago ?
I woke in your arms—you were sound asleep—
And heard the pattering sound of sheep.
Softly I slipped to the floor and crept
To the curtained window, then, while you slept,
I watched the sheep pass by in the snow.
O flock of thoughts with their shepherd Fear
Shivering, desolate, out in the cold,
That entered into my heart to fold !
A thousand years … was it yesterday
When we, two children of far away,
Clinging close in the darkness, lay
Sleeping together ? … How tired you were ! …
The Quarrel
Our quarrel seemed a giant thing,
It made the room feel mean and small,
The books, the lamp, the furniture,
The very pictures on the wall—
Crowded upon us as we sat
Pale and terrified, face to face.
“Why do you stay ?” she said, “my room
Can never be your resting place.”
“Katinka, ere we part for life,
I pray you walk once more with me.”
So down the dark, familiar road
We paced together, silently.
The sky—it seemed on fire with stars !
I said :—“Katinka dear, look up !”
Like thirsty children, both of us
Drank from that giant loving cup.
“Who were those dolls ?” Katinka said.
“What were their stupid, vague alarms ?”
And suddenly we turned and laughed
And rushed into each other's arms.