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Cecil Day Lewis

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The Shadow-Pimp

I thought, 'Had I this body of my Hope
Coffined, earthed up, and out of ken;
This false friend whispering at the elbow,
Pointing horizonward, stunting the scope
Of here and now; this pimp of shadow,
Dream and futility:—then might I win
A mellow, chimney-corner ease.
No more my thought would go with the high branches
Fingering at the moon. I would have release
From the not quite desperate despair that clutches
Hope's hem like a starveling child.
My clock would be a register
Of minutes each sucked dry, of hours beguiled
To glow upon me placidly
As evening light in the stillroom on pewter.
Time would not lag, thus pregnant with a burden
Of inchoate expectancy.'

     So I rose up one night and strangled Hope,
     Buried him twelve foot deep at the end of the garden.

I might have known one cannot cope
With such. Next day the grim persistent spark
Came bodied out anew in windier boast
And promise, whispering at my elbow;
Pointing my heart towards the fruitless dark ...
I suppose I must take this too substantial ghost
For undivorceable bed-fellow.

 

poetrymagazines note: Selected poems by C Day Lewis from The Complete Poems of C Day Lewis (© C Day Lewis, 1992) is reproduced by permission of PFD (www.pfd.co.uk) on behalf of the Estate of C Day Lewis.

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