I will not leave a corner of my consciousness covered up, but saturate myself with the strange and extraordinary new conditions of this life, and it will all refine itself into poetry later on.
quote by Isaac Rosenberg
Added by Lucian Velea
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Beauty
As a sword in the sun
A glory calling a glory
Our eyes, seeing it run,
Capture its gleam for our story.
Singer, marvellous gleam
Dancing in splendid light,
Here you have brought us our dream
Ah, but its stay is its flight !
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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If You Are Fire
If you are fire and I am fire,
Who blows the flame apart
So that desire eludes desire
Around one central heart ?
A single root and separate bough,
And what blind hands between
That make our longing's mutual glow
As if it had not been ?
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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The Jew
Moses, from whose loins I sprung,
Lit by a lamp in his blood
Ten immutable rules, a moon
For mutable lampless men.
The blonde, the bronze, the ruddy,
With the same heaving blood,
Keep tide to the moon of Moses.
Then why do they sneer at me?
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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Song
A silver rose to show
Is your sweet face;
And like the heavens' white brow,
Sometime God's battle-place,
Your blood is quiet now.
Your body is a star
Unto my thought ;
But stars are not too far,
And can be caught-
Small pools their prisons are.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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A Careless Heart
A little breath can make a prayer,
A little wind can take it
And turn it back again to air:
Then say, why should you make it ?
An ardent thought can make a word,
A little ear can hear it,
A careless heart forget it heard :
Then why keep ever near it ?
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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‘A worm fed on the heart of Corinth
A worm fed on the heart of Corinth,
Babylon and Rome:
Not Paris raped tall Helen,
But this incestuous worm,
Who lured her vivid beauty
To his amorphous sleep.
England! Famous as Helen
Is thy betrothal sung
To him the shadowless,
More amorous than Solomon.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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The Troop Ship
Grotesque and queerly huddled
Contortionists to twist
The sleepy soul to a sleep,
We lie all sorts of ways
And cannot sleep.
The wet wind is so cold,
And the lurching men so careless,
That, should you drop to a doze,
Winds' fumble or men's feet
Are on your face.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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In Piccadi
Lamp-lit faces, to you
What is your starry dew ?
Gold flowers of the night blue !
Deep in wet pavement's slime
Mud-rooted is your fierce prime,
To bloom in lust's coloured clime.
The sheen of eyes that lust,
Which dew-time made your trust,
Lights your passionless dust.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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A Question
What if you shut your eyes and look,
Yea, look with all the spirit's eyes,
While mystic unrevealed skies
Unfold like pages of a book
Wherein new scenes of wonder rare
Are imaged, till the sense deceives
Itself, and what it sees believes-
Even what the soul has pictured there?
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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