'The House Of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema' by Conrad Aiken
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As evening falls,
The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls
Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving,
Moving like music, secret and rich and warm.
How shall we live to-night, where shall we turn?
To what new light or darkness yearn?
A thousand winding stairs lead down before us;
And one by one in myriads we descend
By lamplit flowered walls, long balustrades,
Through half-lit halls which reach no end. . . .
Take my arm, then, you or you or you,
And let us walk abroad on the solid air:
Look how the organist's head, in silhouette,
Leans to the lamplit music's orange square! . . .
The dim-globed lamps illumine rows of faces,
Rows of hands and arms and hungry eyes,
They have hurried down from a myriad secret places,
From windy chambers next to the skies. . . .
The music comes upon us. . . .it shakes the darkness,
It shakes the darkness in our minds. . . .
And brilliant figures suddenly fill the darkness,
Down the white shaft of light they run through darkness,
And in our hearts a dazzling dream unwinds . . .
Take my hand, then, walk with me
By the slow soundless crashings of a sea
Down miles on miles of glistening mirrorlike sand,—
Take my hand
And walk with me once more by crumbling walls;
Up mouldering stairs where grey-stemmed ivy clings,
To hear forgotten bells, as evening falls,
Rippling above us invisibly their slowly widening rings. . . .
Did you once love me? Did you bear a name?
Did you once stand before me without shame? . . .
Take my hand: your face is one I know,
I loved you, long ago:
You are like music, long forgotten, suddenly come to mind;
You are like spring returned through snow.
Once, I know, I walked with you in starlight,
And many nights I slept and dreamed of you;
Come, let us climb once more these stairs of starlight,
This midnight stream of cloud-flung blue! . . .
Music murmurs beneath us like a sea,
And faints to a ghostly whisper . . . Come with me.
Are you still doubtful of me—hesitant still,
Fearful, perhaps, that I may yet remember
What you would gladly, if you could, forget?
You were unfaithful once, you met your lover;
Still in your heart you bear that red-eyed ember;
And I was silent,—you remember my silence yet . . .
You knew, as well as I, I could not kill him,
Nor touch him with hot hands, nor yet with hate.
No, and it was not you I saw with anger.
Instead, I rose and beat at steel-walled fate,
Cried till I lay exhausted, sick, unfriended,
That life, so seeming sure, and love, so certain,
Should loose such tricks, be so abruptly ended,
Ring down so suddenly an unlooked-for curtain.
How could I find it in my heart to hurt you,
You, whom this love could hurt much more than I?
No, you were pitiful, and I gave you pity;
And only hated you when I saw you cry.
We were two dupes; if I could give forgiveness,—
Had I the right,—I should forgive you now . . .
We were two dupes . . . Come, let us walk in starlight,
And feed our griefs: we do not break, but bow.
Take my hand, then, come with me
By the white shadowy crashings of a sea . . .
Look how the long volutes of foam unfold
To spread their mottled shimmer along the sand! . . .
Take my hand,
Do not remember how these depths are cold,
Nor how, when you are dead,
Green leagues of sea will glimmer above your head.
You lean your face upon your hands and cry,
The blown sand whispers about your feet,
Terrible seems it now to die,—
Terrible now, with life so incomplete,
To turn away from the balconies and the music,
The sunlit afternoons,
To hear behind you there a far-off laughter
Lost in a stirring of sand among dry dunes . . .
Die not sadly, you whom life has beaten!
Lift your face up, laughing, die like a queen!
Take cold flowers of foam in your warm white fingers!
Death's but a change of sky from blue to green . . .
As evening falls,
The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls
Tremble and glow . . . the music breathes upon us,
The rayed white shaft plays over our heads like magic,
And to and fro we move and lean and change . . .
You, in a world grown strange,
Laugh at a darkness, clench your hands despairing,
Smash your glass on a floor, no longer caring,
Sink suddenly down and cry . . .
You hear the applause that greets your latest rival,
You are forgotten: your rival—who knows?—is I . . .
I laugh in the warm bright light of answering laughter,
I am inspired and young . . . and though I see
You sitting alone there, dark, with shut eyes crying,
I bask in the light, and in your hate of me . . .
Failure . . . well, the time comes soon or later . . .
The night must come . . . and I'll be one who clings,
Desperately, to hold the applause, one instant,—
To keep some youngster waiting in the wings.
The music changes tone . . . a room is darkened,
Someone is moving . . . the crack of white light widens,
And all is dark again; till suddenly falls
A wandering disk of light on floor and walls,
Winks out, returns again, climbs and descends,
Gleams on a clock, a glass, shrinks back to darkness;
And then at last, in the chaos of that place,
Dazzles like frozen fire on your clear face.
Well, I have found you. We have met at last.
Now you shall not escape me: in your eyes
I see the horrible huddlings of your past,—
All you remember blackens, utters cries,
Reaches far hands and faint. I hold the light
Close to your cheek, watch the pained pupils shrink,—
Watch the vile ghosts of all you vilely think . . .
Now all the hatreds of my life have met
To hold high carnival . . . we do not speak,
My fingers find the well-loved throat they seek,
And press, and fling you down . . . and then forget.
Who plays for me? What sudden drums keep time
To the ecstatic rhythm of my crime?
What flute shrills out as moonlight strikes the floor? . .
What violin so faintly cries
Seeing how strangely in the moon he lies? . . .
The room grows dark once more,
The crack of white light narrows around the door,
And all is silent, except a slow complaining
Of flutes and violins, like music waning.
Take my hand, then, walk with me
By the slow soundless crashings of a sea . . .
Look, how white these shells are, on this sand!
Take my hand,
And watch the waves run inward from the sky
Line upon foaming line to plunge and die.
The music that bound our lives is lost behind us,
Paltry it seems . . . here in this wind-swung place
Motionless under the sky's vast vault of azure
We stand in a terror of beauty, face to face.
The dry grass creaks in the wind, the blown sand whispers,
The soft sand seethes on the dunes, the clear grains glisten,
Once they were rock . . . a chaos of golden boulders . . .
Now they are blown by the wind . . . we stand and listen
To the sliding of grain upon timeless grain
And feel our lives go past like a whisper of pain.
Have I not seen you, have we not met before
Here on this sun-and-sea-wrecked shore?
You shade your sea-gray eyes with a sunlit hand
And peer at me . . . far sea-gulls, in your eyes,
Flash in the sun, go down . . . I hear slow sand,
And shrink to nothing beneath blue brilliant skies . . .
* * * * *
The music ends. The screen grows dark. We hurry
To go our devious secret ways, forgetting
Those many lives . . . We loved, we laughed, we killed,
We danced in fire, we drowned in a whirl of sea-waves.
The flutes are stilled, and a thousand dreams are stilled.
Whose body have I found beside dark waters,
The cold white body, garlanded with sea-weed?
Staring with wide eyes at the sky?
I bent my head above it, and cried in silence.
Only the things I dreamed of heard my cry.
Once I loved, and she I loved was darkened.
Again I loved, and love itself was darkened.
Vainly we follow the circle of shadowy days.
The screen at last grows dark, the flutes are silent.
The doors of night are closed. We go our ways.
Editor 1 Interpretation
The House Of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema
Conrad Aiken's "The House of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema" is a beautiful and haunting poem that explores the nature of memory, time, and the human experience. Through evocative imagery and a masterful use of language, Aiken captures the essence of the cinema and the way it shapes and reflects our memories and perceptions.
The poem begins with a description of a movie theater, "with its flicker of light on polished surfaces, / Its gliding of figures in shadowy rows." Aiken's language is rich and evocative, painting a vivid picture of the theater and the people within it. The use of the word "flicker" suggests both the transience of the cinema experience and the way it can transport us to other worlds and times.
As the poem progresses, Aiken delves deeper into the nature of cinema and memory. He writes, "A hundred memories go flitting by, / A hundred actors tread the shadowy stage." Here, he suggests that the cinema serves as a repository for our memories and experiences, a place where we can relive moments from our past and connect with others.
The use of the word "actors" is particularly significant, as it highlights the way in which our memories are often filtered through the lens of our own perceptions and biases. The cinema allows us to see these memories and experiences from multiple perspectives, allowing us to gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and others.
Throughout the poem, Aiken also explores the theme of time and its fluidity. He writes, "The past and future mingle and are one / Beneath the stars' eternal wandering." Here, he suggests that time is not linear but rather circular, with the past and future blending together in a continuous cycle.
This idea is further reinforced in the final stanza of the poem, where Aiken writes, "The shadows pass. The long, long music dies. / And in the darkness, silently we sit." Here, he suggests that the cinema experience is fleeting, and that we are left with only our memories and impressions of what we have seen.
Overall, "The House of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema" is a powerful and moving poem that captures the essence of the cinema experience and its significance in our lives. Through its evocative imagery and masterful use of language, Aiken explores themes of memory, time, and the human experience, leaving the reader with a deeper understanding of the world around them.
In conclusion, Conrad Aiken's "The House of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema" is a masterful work of poetry that deserves to be celebrated for its beauty, complexity, and insight. Whether you are a lover of cinema or simply a fan of great literature, this poem is sure to resonate with you on a deep and profound level. So go ahead, take a seat in the darkness, and let yourself be swept away by the magic of the cinema.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The House of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema - A Masterpiece of Imagery and Emotion
Conrad Aiken's The House of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema is a masterpiece of imagery and emotion. The poem is a vivid portrayal of the power of cinema to transport us to different worlds and to evoke deep emotions within us. In this article, we will analyze and explain the poem in detail, exploring its themes, imagery, and emotional impact.
The poem begins with a description of a cinema, where the speaker is watching a film. The cinema is described as a "dim-lit palace of dreams" that is "filled with the flickering light of the screen." The imagery here is powerful, as it evokes the sense of being transported to another world, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy are blurred.
As the film begins, the speaker is drawn into the story, and the imagery becomes even more vivid. The film is described as a "magic carpet" that takes the speaker on a journey through different worlds and emotions. The imagery here is rich and evocative, as the speaker describes the different scenes in the film:
"Here is a city of marble streets and fountains, White towers against a saffron sky, And hoary battlements upon the mountains, Where through the clouds the eagles fly."
The imagery here is breathtaking, as the speaker describes a world that is both beautiful and mysterious. The use of color is particularly effective, as the saffron sky and white towers create a sense of otherworldliness.
As the film progresses, the speaker becomes more and more emotionally invested in the story. The imagery becomes darker and more intense, as the speaker describes scenes of violence and despair:
"And here, in a dim-lit room, a woman weeping, With a child's corpse upon her breast; And here, upon a battlefield, the reaping Of the red harvest of the West."
The contrast between the beauty of the earlier scenes and the darkness of these scenes is striking. The use of color is again effective, as the red harvest creates a sense of bloodshed and violence.
As the film reaches its climax, the emotional impact on the speaker becomes overwhelming. The imagery becomes even more intense, as the speaker describes scenes of death and destruction:
"And here, upon a scaffold, a man dying, With a great crowd gathered round to see; And here, upon a ship, the sailors crying, As the vessel sinks beneath the sea."
The use of the scaffold and the ship sinking creates a sense of finality and despair. The emotional impact of these scenes is palpable, as the speaker is drawn into the story and feels the pain and suffering of the characters.
In the final stanza, the speaker reflects on the power of cinema to evoke such strong emotions:
"O cinema, thou art the master wizard, Who conjurest up these visions in our brain; Thou art the lord of joy and pain and terror, And we thy slaves, who worship thee in vain."
The use of the word "wizard" creates a sense of magic and mystery, while the idea of being a slave to cinema creates a sense of addiction and dependence. The emotional impact of the poem is profound, as the speaker reflects on the power of cinema to transport us to different worlds and to evoke deep emotions within us.
In conclusion, Conrad Aiken's The House of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema is a masterpiece of imagery and emotion. The poem is a vivid portrayal of the power of cinema to transport us to different worlds and to evoke deep emotions within us. The imagery is rich and evocative, creating a sense of otherworldliness and mystery. The emotional impact of the poem is profound, as the speaker reflects on the power of cinema to evoke such strong emotions. Overall, this poem is a testament to the power of art to move us and to inspire us.
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