'The House Of Dust: Part 03: 12: Witches' Sabbath' by Conrad Aiken

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The House of Dust1917Now, when the moon slid under the cloud
And the cold clear dark of starlight fell,
He heard in his blood the well-known bell
Tolling slowly in heaves of sound,
Slowly beating, slowly beating,
Shaking its pulse on the stagnant air:
Sometimes it swung completely round,
Horribly gasping as if for breath;
Falling down with an anguished cry . . .
Now the red bat, he mused, will fly;
Something is marked, this night, for death . . .
And while he mused, along his blood
Flew ghostly voices, remote and thin,
They rose in the cavern of his brain,
Like ghosts they died away again;
And hands upon his heart were laid,
And music upon his flesh was played,
Until, as he was bidden to do,
He walked the wood he so well knew.
Through the cold dew he moved his feet,
And heard far off, as under the earth,
Discordant music in shuddering tones,
Screams of laughter, horrible mirth,
Clapping of hands, and thudding of drums,
And the long-drawn wail of one in pain.
To-night, he thought, I shall die again,
We shall die again in the red-eyed fire
To meet on the edge of the wood beyond
With the placid gaze of fed desire . . .
He walked; and behind the whisper of trees,
In and out, one walked with him:
She parted the branches and peered at him,
Through lowered lids her two eyes burned,
He heard her breath, he saw her hand,
Wherever he turned his way, she turned:
Kept pace with him, now fast, now slow;
Moving her white knees as he moved . . .
This is the one I have always loved;
This is the one whose bat-soul comes
To dance with me, flesh to flesh,
In the starlight dance of horns and drums . . .The walls and roofs, the scarlet towers,
Sank down behind a rushing sky.
He heard a sweet song just begun
Abruptly shatter in tones and die.
It whirled away.Cold silence fell.
And again came tollings of a bell.*****This air is alive with witches: the white witch rides
Swifter than smoke on the starlit wind.
In the clear darkness, while the moon hides,
They come like dreams, like something remembered . .
Let us hurry! beloved; take my hand,
Forget these things that trouble your eyes,
Forget, forget!Our flesh is changed,
Lighter than smoke we wreathe and rise . . .The cold air hisses between us . . . Beloved, beloved,
What was the word you said?
Something about clear music that sang through water . . .
I cannot remember.The storm-drops break on the leaves.
Something was lost in the darkness.Someone is dead.
Someone lies in the garden and grieves.
Look how the branches are tossed in this air,
Flinging their green to the earth!
Black clouds rush to devour the stars in the sky,
The moon stares down like a half-closed eye.
The leaves are scattered, the birds are blown,
Oaks crash down in the darkness,
We run from our windy shadows; we are running alone.*****The moon was darkened: across it flew
The swift grey tenebrous shape he knew,
Like a thing of smoke it crossed the sky,
The witch! he said.And he heard a cry,
And another came, and another came,
And one, grown duskily red with blood,
Floated an instant across the moon,
Hung like a dull fantastic flame . . .
The earth has veins: they throb to-night,
The earth swells warm beneath my feet,
The tips of the trees grow red and bright,
The leaves are swollen, I feel them beat,
They press together, they push and sigh,
They listen to hear the great bat cry,
The great red bat with the woman's face . . .
Hurry! he said.And pace for pace
That other, who trod the dark with him,
Crushed the live leaves, reached out white hands
And closed her eyes, the better to see
The priests with claws, the lovers with hooves,
The fire-lit rock, the sarabands.
I am here! she said.The bough he broke-
Was it the snapping bough that spoke?
I am here! she said.The white thigh gleamed
Cold in starlight among dark leaves,
The head thrown backward as he had dreamed,
The shadowy red deep jasper mouth;
And the lifted hands, and the virgin breasts,
Passed beside him, and vanished away.
I am here! she cried.He answered 'Stay!'
And laughter arose, and near and far
Answering laughter rose and died . . .
Who is there? in the dark? he cried.
He stood in terror, and heard a sound
Of terrible hooves on the hollow ground;
They rushed, were still; a silence fell;
And he heard deep tollings of a bell.*****Look beloved!Why do you hide your face?
Look, in the centre there, above the fire,
They are bearing the boy who blasphemed love!
They are playing a piercing music upon him
With a bow of living wire! . . .
The virgin harlot sings,
She leans above the beautiful anguished body,
And draws slow music from those strings.
They dance around him, they fling red roses upon him,
They trample him with their naked feet,
His cries are lost in laughter,
Their feet grow dark with his blood, they beat andbeat,
They dance upon him, until he cries no more . . .
Have we not heard that cry before?
Somewhere, somewhere,
Beside a sea, in the green evening,
Beneath green clouds, in a copper sky . . .
Was it you? was it I?
They have quenched the fires, they dance in the darkness,
The satyrs have run among them to seize and tear,
Look! he has caught one by the hair,
She screams and falls, he bears her away with him,
And the night grows full of whistling wings.
Far off, one voice, serene and sweet,
Rises and sings . . .'By the clear waters where once I died,
In the calm evening bright with stars. . . .'
Where have I heard these words?Was it you who sang them?
It was long ago.
Let us hurry, beloved! the hard hooves trample;
The treetops tremble and glow.*****In the clear dark, on silent wings,
The red bat hovers beneath her moon;
She drops through the fragrant night, and clings
Fast in the shadow, with hands like claws,
With soft eyes closed and mouth that feeds,
To the young white flesh that warmly bleeds.
The maidens circle in dance, and raise
From lifting throats, a soft-sung praise;
Their knees and breasts are white and bare,
They have hung pale roses in their hair,
Each of them as she dances by
Peers at the blood with a narrowed eye.
See how the red wing wraps him round,
See how the white youth struggles in vain!
The weak arms writhe in a soundless pain;
He writhes in the soft red veiny wings,
But still she whispers upon him and clings. . . .
This is the secret feast of love,
Look well, look well, before it dies,
See how the red one trembles above,
See how quiet the white one lies! . . . .Wind through the trees. . . .and a voice is heard
Singing far off.The dead leaves fall. . . .
'By the clear waters where once I died,
In the calm evening bright with stars,
One among numberless avatars,
I wedded a mortal, a mortal bride,
And lay on the stones and gave my flesh,
And entered the hunger of him I loved.
How shall I ever escape this mesh
Or be from my lover's body removed?'
Dead leaves stream through the hurrying air
And the maenads dance with flying hair.*****The priests with hooves, the lovers with horns,
Rise in the starlight, one by one,
They draw their knives on the spurting throats,
They smear the column with blood of goats,
They dabble the blood on hair and lips
And wait like stones for the moon's eclipse.
They stand like stones and stare at the sky
Where the moon leers down like a half-closed eye. . .
In the green moonlight still they stand
While wind flows over the darkened sand
And brood on the soft forgotten things
That filled their shadowy yesterdays. . . .
Where are the breasts, the scarlet wings? . . . .
They gaze at each other with troubled gaze. . . .
And then, as the shadow closes the moon,
Shout, and strike with their hooves the ground,
And rush through the dark, and fill the night
With a slowly dying clamor of sound.
There, where the great walls crowd the stars,
There, by the black wind-riven walls,
In a grove of twisted leafless trees. . . .
Who are these pilgrims, who are these,
These three, the one of whom stands upright,
While one lies weeping and one of them crawls?
The face that he turned was a wounded face,
I heard the dripping of blood on stones. . . .
Hooves had trampled and torn this place,
And the leaves were strewn with blood and bones.
Sometimes, I think, beneath my feet,
The warm earth stretches herself and sighs. . . .
Listen!I heard the slow heart beat. . . .
I will lie on this grass as a lover lies
And reach to the north and reach to the south
And seek in the darkness for her mouth.*****Beloved, beloved, where the slow waves of the wind
Shatter pale foam among great trees,
Under the hurrying stars, under the heaving arches,
Like one whirled down under shadowy seas,
I run to find you, I run and cry,
Where are you?Where are you?It is I.It is I.
It is your eyes I seek, it is your windy hair,
Your starlight body that breathes in the darkness there.
Under the darkness I feel you stirring. . . .
Is this you?Is this you?
Bats in this air go whirring. . . .
And this soft mouth that darkly meets my mouth,
Is this the soft mouth I knew?
Darkness, and wind in the tortured trees;
And the patter of dew.*****Dance!Dance!Dance!Dance!
Dance till the brain is red with speed!
Dance till you fall!Lift your torches!
Kiss your lovers until they bleed!
Backward I draw your anguished hair
Until your eyes are stretched with pain;
Backward I press you until you cry,
Your lips grow white, I kiss you again,
I will take a torch and set you afire,
I will break your body and fling it away. . . .
Look, you are trembling. . . .Lie still, beloved!
Lock your hands in my hair, and say
Darling! darling! darling! darling!
All night long till the break of day.Is it your heart I hear beneath me. . . .
Or the far tolling of that tower?
The voices are still that cried around us. . . .
The woods grow still for the sacred hour.
Rise, white lover! the day draws near.
The grey trees lean to the east in fear.
'By the clear waters where once I died . . . .'
Beloved, whose voice was this that cried?
'By the clear waters that reach the sun
By the clear waves that starward run. . . .
I found love's body and lost his soul,
And crumbled in flame that should have annealed. . .
How shall I ever again be whole,
By what dark waters shall I be healed?'Silence. . . .the red leaves, one by one,
Fall.Far off, the maenads run.Silence.Beneath my naked feet
The veins of the red earth swell and beat.
The dead leaves sigh on the troubled air,
Far off the maenads bind their hair. . . .
Hurry, beloved! the day comes soon.
The fire is drawn from the heart of the moon.*****The great bell cracks and falls at last.
The moon whirls out.The sky grows still.
Look, how the white cloud crosses the stars
And suddenly drops behind the hill!
Your eyes are placid, you smile at me,
We sit in the room by candle-light.
We peer in each other's veins and see
No sign of the things we saw this night.
Only, a song is in your ears,
A song you have heard, you think, in dream:
The song which only the demon hears,
In the dark forest where maenads scream . . .'By the clear waters where once I died . . .
In the calm evening bright with stars . . . '
What do the strange words mean? you say,-
And touch my hand, and turn away.

Editor 1 Interpretation

The House Of Dust: Part 03: 12: Witches' Sabbath by Conrad Aiken

The House of Dust: Part 03: 12: Witches' Sabbath, written by Conrad Aiken, is a powerful and evocative poem that takes the reader on a journey into the dark world of witches and the supernatural. Aiken, who was a master of language and imagery, uses his talents to create a vivid and haunting picture of a witches' sabbath that is both terrifying and alluring.

The poem opens with a description of the setting: "Down the dim stairs, through the dark hall, / The ghostly procession comes; / They come, they go, they never fall; / Impossible figures, that pass / Like shadows over the walls." The use of imagery here is particularly effective, as Aiken paints a picture of a dark and eerie place where the supernatural reigns supreme. The ghostly procession is a powerful image that immediately captures the reader's attention and draws them into the world of the poem.

The witches themselves are described in a way that is both alluring and terrifying. Aiken writes, "Their faces are twisted and old, / Like crumpled leaves on a tree; / Their eyes are as bright as the gold / That gleams on the wings of a bee." The use of simile here is particularly effective, as Aiken compares the witches to crumpled leaves and the gold on a bee's wings, creating a sense of both beauty and decay. The contrast between the beauty of the witches' eyes and the twisted, old appearance of their faces adds to the sense of unease that permeates the poem.

As the witches gather, they begin to perform their rituals, and Aiken's language becomes even more evocative. He writes, "They dance and they sing, they laugh and they cry, / Till the moon in the sky grows red; / Then they mount on their broomsticks and fly / To the land of the living and dead." The use of rhyme and repetition here is particularly effective, as it creates a sense of rhythm and momentum that draws the reader along with the witches. The idea of flying on broomsticks is a classic image of witchcraft, and Aiken uses it to great effect here, creating a sense of otherworldly power and freedom.

As the witches fly through the night, they create a sense of chaos and terror. Aiken writes, "They ride through the air like birds on the wing, / And they shriek and they cackle and crow; / And the beasts of the wood, and the birds that sing, / Are afraid, and they shudder below." The use of onomatopoeia here is particularly effective, as the sounds of the witches' shrieks and cackles create a sense of madness and chaos. The idea of the beasts and birds being afraid adds to the sense of terror, as it suggests that the witches have the power to overcome even the natural world.

As the witches reach their destination, they begin to perform their dark rituals, and Aiken's language becomes even more evocative. He writes, "They dance and they sing, they laugh and they cry, / Till the dawn of the morning light; / And they scatter the ashes, and scatter the bones, / And they vanish away in the night." The repetition of the witches' actions creates a sense of ritual and tradition, while the use of rhyme and rhythm creates a sense of momentum and urgency. The idea of scattering ashes and bones is particularly evocative, as it suggests a violent and destructive act.

In conclusion, The House Of Dust: Part 03: 12: Witches' Sabbath is a powerful and evocative poem that takes the reader on a journey into the dark world of witches and the supernatural. Aiken's use of language and imagery is particularly effective, creating a vivid and haunting picture of a witches' sabbath that is both terrifying and alluring. The poem is a testament to Aiken's skill as a poet, and a classic example of his ability to create powerful and memorable works of literature.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

The House of Dust: Part 03: 12: Witches' Sabbath by Conrad Aiken is a hauntingly beautiful poem that transports the reader to a world of dark magic and mystery. This poem is part of a larger work, The House of Dust, which is a collection of interconnected poems that explore the themes of love, loss, and the passage of time. In this analysis, we will delve into the imagery, symbolism, and themes present in Witches' Sabbath.

The poem begins with the speaker describing a group of witches gathering in a forest at night. The imagery in this opening stanza is vivid and evocative, with the "black trees" and "black sky" creating a sense of foreboding and danger. The witches themselves are described as "black shapes" with "black hoods" and "black masks," emphasizing their otherness and the sense of mystery surrounding them.

As the poem progresses, the speaker describes the witches engaging in a series of rituals and spells. The language used here is rich and poetic, with phrases like "the fire leaps up," "the smoke curls," and "the incense rises" creating a sense of movement and energy. The use of sensory details like the "sweet smell" of the incense and the "flickering light" of the fire adds to the immersive quality of the poem, making the reader feel as though they are witnessing the events firsthand.

One of the most striking aspects of Witches' Sabbath is the use of symbolism. The witches themselves can be seen as symbols of the darker aspects of femininity, with their black clothing and masks representing the hidden and mysterious parts of the self. The rituals they engage in can be seen as a metaphor for the power of the unconscious mind, with the fire and smoke representing the transformative power of the psyche.

Another important symbol in the poem is the moon. The speaker describes the moon as "a great white witch" who "rides her black horse" through the sky. This image is both beautiful and eerie, with the contrast between the white moon and the black horse creating a sense of tension and unease. The moon can be seen as a symbol of the feminine, with its cyclical nature representing the passage of time and the cycles of life and death.

The theme of death is also present in Witches' Sabbath, with the speaker describing the witches as "chanting a song of death." This theme is further emphasized by the imagery of the graveyard that appears later in the poem. The graveyard is described as a place of "black crosses" and "black tombs," with the dead lying "silent and still" beneath the earth. This imagery creates a sense of finality and inevitability, underscoring the idea that death is an inescapable part of life.

Despite the dark and eerie imagery present in Witches' Sabbath, there is also a sense of beauty and wonder in the poem. The language used by the speaker is poetic and evocative, with phrases like "the moon rides high" and "the stars burn bright" creating a sense of awe and reverence. The rituals and spells performed by the witches can be seen as a celebration of the natural world and the power of the human spirit.

In conclusion, The House of Dust: Part 03: 12: Witches' Sabbath by Conrad Aiken is a haunting and evocative poem that explores the themes of femininity, death, and the power of the unconscious mind. The use of vivid imagery, rich symbolism, and poetic language creates a sense of immersion and wonder, transporting the reader to a world of dark magic and mystery. This poem is a testament to the power of poetry to evoke emotion and create a sense of connection with the world around us.

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