The Host of Easter (and commentary on the undercurrents of poetry)

The Host of Easter

Easter, the flower of the season, pleases me
I hear the tweeting of the birds, in the condensed city
from the rooftop of my house, I see the city’s meadows
boroughs, sections, districts and all; houses like
tents, and buildings like pavilions, not much
green, but a great season of joy.
It pleases me to see it coming
Wtih host of heaven.

It pleases me to think and see
The Lord of Lords, the Host of Heaven, on His
Horse, fearless, armed heroic vassalage of God,
Subordinate to nobody but his being;
My eyes follow him exultingly,
From the grave
To victory!


Ah, yes, there I stand, battle axe and sword
A-battering shield, entering melee, by the
Lord of Lords; I tell you, He, delights
In putting to sleep the feudal kings
That torments the souls
Afflict disastrously
His show!

No man has known such bitter despair
Nor any place with such horror
Than to be smitten by the
Hand of The
Lord!...of
Lords.


#1720 3-6-2007

Note (commentary: Separate Excitement): if you are looking for the poet inside the poem, look for the undercurrent he has left, the continuous undercurrent of feeling, it should be everywhere, but seldom does anyone look for it, it is called separate excitement; or poetic art, Yeats uses it. If you missed the fountain and the beauty, and the exact riming in the poem, which is sometimes called ‘duty,’ I didn’t put it in for various reasons, I do not take pleasure in the corresponding banalities (or ordinariness), as much as I used to. Yet I have not gone too fare to the other extreme either, allowance can be made for the unfriendliness of our times, I do believe. Today we do not ride the didactic horse to death, as they did a millennium ago, nor can anyone stand the verbosity of that era.