UNFORGOTTEN POETRY: LAURENCE WHISTLER

Sir Laurence Whistler (1912-2000) was a miraculous glass-engraver, who has appeared on my blog before and will do so again, since I had the privilege of his acquaintance in my youth. He was also a fine poet, who invented a new form of the sonnet. Here is a poem I have always loved, from his volume  Audible Silence (Hart-Davis, 1961).

The Guest

Build the pillows plump as mushrooms,
Folding down the elated sheet.
Look to all courtesies of night-time:
Lemon to sip, petit beurre to eat.
Try the bedside lamp. Lay out
Towels large as a cloud and kind.
Bring to the dressing-table one rose—
And read the same thought in the mirror’s mind.
For he is expected. Can joy do less,
When it may not spread carpets and fall at his feet?

Strip the pillow, fold the bedding,
Draw a dust-sheet over the bed.
Release to their holes around the house
The books that flocked to his midnight head.
Pick up scraps of a letter. Empty
A vase where pins and pennies confer.
Then slide the curtains: keep that sun
From whitening chintz and wall-paper.
For he is gone. Now if any good thing
Was left for the saying, it stays unsaid.

And all the day we were brimming with plans
To entertain him and keep him near;
And half the night were examining ways
To relish him better, eye and ear.
Was there ever a moment when anyone said,
‘Relax. He is here!’?

Usque ad senectutem et canos Deus ne derelinquas me:

donec adnuntiam brachium tuum generationi

cunctisque qui venturi sunt fortitudines tuas.