famous poetry
| Famous Poetry | Roleplay | Free Video Tutorials | Online Poetry Club | Free Education | Best of Youtube | Ear Training

The House Of Dust: Part 03: 07: Porcelain Analysis

Author: Poetry of Conrad Aiken Type: Poetry Views: 133

Sponsored Links

The House of Dust1917You see that porcelain ranged there in the window-

Platters and soup-plates done with pale pink rosebuds,

And tiny violets, and wreaths of ivy?

See how the pattern clings to the gleaming edges!

They're works of art-minutely seen and felt,

Each petal done devoutly.Is it failure

To spend your blood like this?Study them . . . you will see there, in the porcelain,

If you stare hard enough, a sort of swimming

Of lights and shadows, ghosts within a crystal-

My brain unfolding!There you'll see me sitting

Day after day, close to a certain window,

Looking down, sometimes, to see the people . . .Sometimes my wife comes there to speak to me . . .

Sometimes the grey cat waves his tail around me . . .

Goldfish swim in a bowl, glisten in sunlight,

Dilate to a gorgeous size, blow delicate bubbles,

Drowse among dark green weeds.On rainy days,

You'll see a gas-light shedding light behind me-

An eye-shade round my forehead.There I sit,

Twirling the tiny brushes in my paint-cups,

Painting the pale pink rosebuds, minute violets,

Exquisite wreaths of dark green ivy leaves.

On this leaf, goes a dream I dreamed last night

Of two soft-patterned toads-I thought them stones,

Until they hopped!And then a great black spider,-

Tarantula, perhaps, a hideous thing,-

It crossed the room in one tremendous leap.

Here,-as I coil the stems between two leaves,-

It is as if, dwindling to atomy size,

I cried the secret between two universes . . .

A friend of mine took hasheesh once, and said

Just as he fell asleep he had a dream,-

Though with his eyes wide open,-

And felt, or saw, or knew himself a part

Of marvelous slowly-wreathing intricate patterns,

Plane upon plane, depth upon coiling depth,

Amazing leaves, folding one on another,

Voluted grasses, twists and curves and spirals-

All of it darkly moving . . . as for me,

I need no hasheesh for it-it's too easy!

Soon as I shut my eyes I set out walking

In a monstrous jungle of monstrous pale pink roseleaves,

Violets purple as death, dripping with water,

And ivy-leaves as big as clouds above me.Here, in a simple pattern of separate violets-

With scalloped edges gilded-here you have me

Thinking of something else.My wife, you know,-

There's something lacking-force, or will, or passion,

I don't know what it is-and so, sometimes,

When I am tired, or haven't slept three nights,

Or it is cloudy, with low threat of rain,

I get uneasy-just like poplar trees

Ruffling their leaves-and I begin to think

Of poor Pauline, so many years ago,

And that delicious night.Where is she now?

I meant to write-but she has moved, by this time,

And then, besides, she might find out I'm married.

Well, there is more-I'm getting old and timid-

The years have gnawed my will.I've lost my nerve!

I never strike out boldly as I used to-

But sit here, painting violets, and remember

That thrilling night.Photographers, she said,

Asked her to pose for them; her eyes and forehead,-

Dark brown eyes, and a smooth and pallid forehead,-

Were thought so beautiful.-And so they were.

Pauline . . .These violets are like words remembered . . .

Darling! she whispered . . . Darling! . . . Darling! . . . Darling!

Well, I suppose such days can come but once.

Lord, how happy we were! . . .Here, if you only knew it, is a story-

Here, in these leaves.I stopped my work to tell it,

And then, when I had finished, went on thinking:

A man I saw on a train . . .I was still a boy . . .

Who killed himself by diving against a wall.

Here is a recollection of my wife,

When she was still my sweetheart, years ago.

It's funny how things change,-just change, by growing,

Without an effort . . .And here are trivial things,-

A chill, an errand forgotten, a cut while shaving;

A friend of mine who tells me he is married . . .

Or is that last so trivial?Well, no matter!This is the sort of thing you'll see of me,

If you look hard enough.This, in its way,

Is a kind of fame.My life arranged before you

In scrolls of leaves, rosebuds, violets, ivy,

Clustered or wreathed on plate and cup and platter . . .

Sometimes, I say, I'm just like John the Baptist-

You have my head before you . . . on a platter.


Learn to Play Songs by Ear: Ear Training

122 Free Video Tutorials

[Video Tutorial] How to build google chrome extensions

Please add me on youtube. I make free educational video tutorials on youtube such as Basic HTML and CSS.

Free Online Education from Top Universities

Yes! It's true. Online College Education is now free!

||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

There have been no submitted criqiques, be the first to add one below.

Post your Analysis


Free Online Education from Top Universities

Yes! It's true. College Education is now free!

Most common keywords

The House Of Dust: Part 03: 07: Porcelain Analysis Conrad Aiken critical analysis of poem, review school overview. Analysis of the poem. literary terms. Definition terms. Why did he use? short summary describing. The House Of Dust: Part 03: 07: Porcelain Analysis Conrad Aiken Characters archetypes. Sparknotes bookrags the meaning summary overview critique of explanation pinkmonkey. Quick fast explanatory summary. pinkmonkey free cliffnotes cliffnotes ebook pdf doc file essay summary literary terms analysis professional definition summary synopsis sinopsis interpretation critique The House Of Dust: Part 03: 07: Porcelain Analysis Conrad Aiken itunes audio book mp4 mp3 mit ocw Online Education homework forum help

Poetry 170
Poetry 60
Poetry 41
Poetry 43
Poetry 167
Poetry 29
Poetry 50
Poetry 91
Poetry 207
Poetry 16
Poetry 126
Poetry 138
Poetry 200
Poetry 178
Poetry 124
Poetry 68
Poetry 166
Poetry 122
Poetry 9
Poetry 94