Men Are Unwise - After James Elroy Flecker - Samarkand Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

MEN ARE UNWISE
‘What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned.’

‘Men are unwise and curiously planned, ’
Enticed by lust for learning the unknown.
Nature, before their lives are fully spanned,
Assures [t]race seed is sown lest base be blown
Restringing puppet pauper to new stand.
Ever onwards, with sharp thorn lies strewn
Uncertain quicksand way to Samarkand,
New gleanings, old rehashed, rep[l]ay strung clone
Which Time wears down, forgotten every hand.
It seems so pointless, like a telephone
Sans dial, sans tone, mobile receiver jammed.
Earth's endings, like beginnings, berth alone.
AND CURIOUSLY women often bow!
PLANNED obsolescence may await men now!

7 September 1990 revised 10 December 2006 sonnet 15 September 2008
robi03_0337_flec01_0002 PAS_DZX
after James Elroy FLECKER 1884_1915 The Golden Jouney to Samarkand
See SAMARKAND robi03_0327_flec01_0002 PAX_JZX
see below for previous version

MEN ARE UNWISE
‘Men are unwise and curiously planned, ’
Enticed by lust of knowing the unknown.
Nature, before their lives are fully spanned,
Assures [t]race seed is sown lest base be blown
Restringing puppet pauper to new stand.
Ever onwards, though with thorns is strewn
Unduly sharp, the way to Samarkand,
New gleanings, old rehashed, replay strung clone
Which Time wears down, forgotten every hand.
It seems so pointless, like a telephone
Sans dial, sans dialling tone, receiver jammed.
Endings, like beginnings, are alone...

7 September 1990 revised 10 December 2006
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The Golden Jouney to Samarkand
PROLOGUE
I
We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage
And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die,
We Poets of the proud old lineage
Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, -
What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales
Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest,
Where nevermore the rose of sunset pales,
And winds and shadows fall towards the West:
And there the world's first huge white-bearded kings
In dim glades sleeping, murmur in their sleep,
And closer round their breasts the ivy clings,
Cutting its pathway slow and red and deep.
II
And how beguile you? Death has no repose
Warmer and deeper than the Orient sand
Which hides the beauty and bright faith of those
Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
And now they wait and whiten peaceably,
Those conquerors, those poets, those so fair:
They know time comes, not only you and I,
But the whole world shall whiten, here or there;
When those long caravans that cross the plain
With dauntless feet and sound of silver bells
Put forth no more for glory or for gain,
Take no more solace from the palm-girt wells.
When the great markets by the sea shut fast
All that calm Sunday that goes on and on:
When even lovers find their peace at last,
And Earth is but a star, that once had shone.

The Golden Journey to Samarkand
EPILOGUE

At the Gate of the Sun, Bagdad, in olden time

THE MERCHANTS (together)
Away, for we are ready to a man!
Our camels sniff the evening and are glad.
Lead on, O Master of the Caravan:
Lead on the Merchant-Princes of Bagdad.

THE CHIEF DRAPER
Have we not Indian carpets dark as wine,
Turbans and sashes, gowns and bows and veils,
And broideries of intricate design,
And printed hangings in enormous bales?

THE CHIEF GROCER
We have rose-candy, we have spikenard,
Mastic and terebinth and oil and spice,
And such sweet jams meticulously jarred
As God's own Prophet eats in Paradise.

THE PRINCIPAL JEWS
And we have manuscripts in peacock styles
By Ali of Damascus; we have swords
Engraved with storks and apes and crocodiles,
And heavy beaten necklaces, for Lords.

THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
But you are nothing but a lot of Jews.

THE PRINCIPAL JEWS
Sir, even dogs have daylight, and we pay.

THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
But who are ye in rags and rotten shoes,
You dirty-bearded, blocking up the way?

THE PILGRIMS
We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go
Always a little further: it may be
Beyond the last blue mountain barred with snow,
Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men were born: but surely we are brave,
Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

THE CHIEF MERCHANT
We gnaw the nail of hurry. Master, away!

ONE OF THE WOMEN
O turn your eyes to where your children stand.
Is not Bagdad the beautiful? O stay!

THE MERCHANTS (in chorus)
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.

AN OLD MAN
Have you not girls and garlands in your homes,
Eunuchs and Syrian boys at your command?
Seek not excess: God hateth him who roams!

THE MERCHANTS (in chorus)
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

A PILGRIM WITH A BEAUTIFUL VOICE
Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells
When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,
And softly through the silence beat the bells
Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.

A MERCHANT
We travel not for trafficking alone:
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
Open the gate, O watchman of the night!

THE WATCHMAN
Ho, travellers, I open. For what land
Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?

THE MERCHANTS (with a shout)
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
The Caravan passes through the gate

THE WATCHMAN (consoling the women)
What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned.

A WOMAN
They have their dreams, and do not think of us.

VOICES OF THE CARAVAN (in the distance, singing)
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

James Elroy FLECKER 1884_1915

Itself probably after John Davidson The Merchantman
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
THE MERCHANTMAN
The Markethaunters

Now, while our money is piping hot
From the mint of our toil that coins the sheaves,
Merchantman, merchantman, what have you got
In your tabernacle hung with leaves?
What have you got?
The sun rides high;
The money is hot;
We must buy, buy, buy!

The Merchantman

I come from the elfin king’s demesne
With chrysolite, hyacinth, tourmaline;
I have emeralds here of living green;
I have rubies, each like a cup of wine;
And diamonds, diamonds that never have been
Outshone by eyes the most divine!

The Markethaunters

Jewellery? – Baubles; bad for the soul;
Desire of the heart and lust of the eye!
Diamonds, indeed! We wanted coal.
What else do you sell? Come sound your cry!
Our money is hot;
The night draws nigh;
What have you got
That we want to buy?

The Merchantman

I have here enshrine the soul of the rose
Exhaled in the land of the daystar’s birth;
I have casks whose golden staves enclose
Eternal youth, eternal mirth:
And cordials that bring repose,
And the tranquil night, and the end of the earth.

The Markethaunters

Rapture of wine? But it never pays;
We must keep our common-sense alert.
Raisins are healthier, medicine says –
Raisins and almonds for dessert.
But we want to buy;
For our money is hot,
And age draws night:
What else have you got?

The Merchantman

I have lamps that gild the lustre of noon;
Shadowy arrows that pierce the brain;
Dulcimers strung with beams of the moon;
Psalteries fashion’d of pleasure and pain;
A song and a sword and a haunting tune
That may never be offer’d the world again.

The Markethaunters

Dulcimers! Psalteries! Whom do you mock?
Arrows and songs? We have axes to grind!
Shut up your booth and your mouldering stock,
For we never shall deal. – Come away; let us find
What the others have got!
We must buy, buy, buy;
For our money is hot,
And death draws nigh.

John DAVIDSON 1857_1909
See James Elroy Fletcher The Golden Journey to Samarkand