Results 1 to 2 of 2

Thread: James K Baxter

  1. #1
    Scrivener
    Join Date
    Apr 2005
    Posts
    108

    James K Baxter

    Baxter was New Zealand's greatest poet, no doubt. Man was amazing.

    High Country Weather

    Alone we are born,
    And die alone.
    Yet see the red-gold cirrus,
    Over snow-mountain shine.

    Upon the upland,
    Ride easy stranger.
    Surrender to the sky,
    Your heart of anger.
    - James K. Baxter.
    The man can pack so many layers of meaning into so little. Whenever I read his work, a little more of my fragile mind is blown.

    Wild Bees

    Often in summer, on a tarred bridge plank standing,
    Or downstream between willows, a safe Ophelia drifting
    In a rented boat - I had seen them comes and go,
    Those wild bees, swift as tigers, their gauze wings a-glitter
    In passionless industry, clustering black at the crevice
    Of a rotten cabbage tree, where their hive was hidden low

    But never strolled too near. Till one half-cloudy evening
    Of ripe January, my friends and I
    Came, gloved and masked to the eyes like plundering desperadoes,
    To smoke them out. Quiet beside the stagnant river
    We trod wet grasses down, hearing the crickets chitter
    And waiting for light to drain from the wounded sky.

    Before we reached the hive their sentries saw us
    And sprang invisible through the darkening air.
    Stabbed, and died in stinging. The hive woke. Poisonous fuming
    Of sulphur filled the hollow trunk, and crawling
    Blue flames sputtered - yet still their suicidal
    Live raiders dived and clung to our hands and hair.

    O it was Carthage under the Roman torches,
    Or loud with flames and falling timber, Troy!
    A job well botched. Half of the honey melted
    And half the rest young grubs. Through earth-black smouldering ashes
    And maimed bee groaning, we drew our plunder.
    Little enough their gold, and slight our joy.

    Fallen then the city of instinctive wisdom.
    Tragedy is written distinct and small:
    A hive burned on a cool night in summer.
    But loss is a precious stone to me, a nectar
    Distilled in time, preaching the truth of winter
    To the fallen heart that does not cease to fall.
    - James K. Baxter.

    -----
    My latest work: Bags - The Hooker - Going Rogue - Flashing Out - The Problem with Being a Grifter
    I always appreciate fair criticism, and will endeavor to reciprocate.

  2. #2
    Scrivener
    Join Date
    Apr 2005
    Posts
    108
    I just acquired a 600 page anthology of his work.

    And you people clearly have no taste. So sad.
    My latest work: Bags - The Hooker - Going Rogue - Flashing Out - The Problem with Being a Grifter
    I always appreciate fair criticism, and will endeavor to reciprocate.

Thread Information

Users Browsing this Thread

There are currently 1 users browsing this thread. (0 members and 1 guests)

Bookmarks

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •