Jane was a stout and stalwart child
Her voice was very far from mild:
Although requested not to shout
She bawled, she screamed, day in, day out.
Had she once learned her mouth to shut
She might have lived far longer; but
The tragedy I now relate
Befell her at the age of eight.
Each year her parents went with glee
To spend a week beside the sea,
And knowing, as good parents do,
Jane was a stout and stalwart child,
From the green rim of the cliff top,
High, high and away,
The birdmen steering dreadless
Wing for the wide bay.
Over the long surf-whisper
High on the wind are heard
The whoop of a happy birdman,
The boding cry of a bird.
This little fantasy is tucked into the back of the funeral file.
The Threadbear of Needle St.
There was once a surreptitious Threadbear who lived in Needle St.
His safe home was in the basement of a Bank . The bankers did not know this .
His room was rather dark, with steel walls, but he had hung it with some smart paper he found in stacks on a shelf. It was white with a squiggly design of black and red .
The front door had a combination lock . Since the Threadbear was an unsociable but mechanically-minded animal he had changed the combination to BEAR 666 .
Sometimes a banker came to call on him. The Threadbear lay low , and after trying a few likely combinations the banker went away .
The Threadbear had no friends . He lived a peaceful life .
In his larder he kept honey , flies and embroidery silk in many pleasant colours . The blues were the tastiest but disagreed with him . He was a bilious Threadbear .
One day the Threadbear had run out of flies . He thought he would step along to the Sports Shop and buy some more .
“There’s sure to be nothing but feather kinds left” he said disconsolately as he put on his spats .
On the way he met a Wretched Being . It was carrying all the equipment of a fisherman.
“Why not take a tram to the Sports Shop ?” said the Wretched Being .
They climbed aboard the first tram that came by .
“You pay going and I’ll pay coming back,” said the Threadbear, and he thought to himself “ We won’t come back together.”
Are the later poems copied since before JP? no
Like the fall of a star ,
Like the change of a vane ,
Like an echo in air ,
Like a shadow in rain ,
Like a glint in the snow ,
Like a breath on the glass ,
Love is easy to know —
Love is known by its loss .
The funeral collection is my only source for this. Extreme brevity was in her range and she could make it moving, even in the manner of a folk piece.
8. For the death of Ezra Pound
One face the less reflected in wrinkles on the Grand Canal :
One shrivelled leaf the more whirled far from Kensington Gardens :
The jealously guarded rights of flesh resigned ,
Our Spartan steps naked now into new battle .
O dear master !
Exile , prophet , rune-caster , last of the troubadours ,
In perpetuum ave atque vale .
[Received new in 1968]
At the time of his death Marion would remember that Jocelyn was attracted by all Pound’s given roles. For Jocelyn too there was a shadow of Good-bye for ever.