Edwin Muir Poems
|2.||They Could Not Tell Me Who Should Be My Lord||4/1/2010|
|3.||Reading In Wartime||4/1/2010|
|4.||The Angel And The Girl||4/1/2010|
|6.||Robert The Bruce (To Douglas In Dying)||4/1/2010|
|14.||The Incarnate One||1/3/2003|
|15.||The Child Dying||1/3/2003|
|16.||In Love For Long||1/3/2003|
|18.||Circle And Square||1/3/2003|
|19.||The Good Man In Hell||1/3/2003|
Comments about Edwin Muir
Barely a twelvemonth after
The seven days war that put the world to sleep,
Late in the evening the strange horses came.
By then we had made our covenant with silence,
But in the first few days it was so still
We listened to our breathing and were afraid.
On the second day
The radios failed; we turned the knobs; no answer.
On the third day a warship passed us, heading north,
Dead bodies piled on the deck. On the sixth day
A plane plunged over us into the sea. Thereafter
Nothing. The radios dumb;
And still they stand in corners of our kitchens,
And stand, ...
Now the ice lays its smooth claws on the sill,
The sun looks from the hill
Helmed in his winter casket,
And sweeps his arctic sword across the sky.
The water at the mill
Sounds more hoarse and dull.
The miller's daughter walking by
With frozen fingers soldered to her basket
Seems to be knocking