PS 3537 ^^^^^^^^^K ^^k'' .W372 C6 1922 4 Copy 1 m CORN Moods from Mid- America by HAROLD NORLING SW ANSON r.i. ■ >■'-■ Vri;,-; •, - ^■■ Class. Boole P.5 3 537 CDpyrigME?- CQEBRIGHT DEPOSIT. CORN CORN MOODS FROM MID-AMERICA By Harold Norling Swanson Malteaser Publishing Company Grinnell, Iowa COPYRIGHT 1922 BY HAROLD NORLING S\V ANSON -'^'f First Printing, August IQ22 OCi 16 22 ©CU683734. TO The Day When The Corn Coufttry Will Tell Its Own Stories CONTENTS I. PROEM. II. HUMDRUM. III. AT THE FEET OF EROS. IV. FRAGMENTS: BLUE AND SILVER. V. BOOK CLOSED ON A FINGER. VI. l'envoi. I. PROEM A DOG BAYS THE MOON His wail, climbing with the strength of agony, Shivers in the snow-blue air. And the cold, beautiful body of the moon Is as inaccessible as ever. So do I cry after what I want to tell. I have found out some things for myself — I know what I know. Who cares If I gibber madly to the white heart of the sky 1 The moon and I have our secrets. 11 II. HUMDRUM A SENATOR TALKS TO HIS CONSTITUENCY IN THE CORN BELT A kite Dances in the scudding gray Of April sky. Is it fretting at the string? Or is it glad For some faint touch with earth? 15 A BOOKKEEPER HAS SPENT HER VACATION IN THE CITY A Pullman porter waves his hand To someone in the darkness. The gray film of earth unrolls swiftly. The towns make queer angles, Grotesque in their shadows. The columns of figures I add tomorrow, dearest, will be the clock ticks before you write. You will write every day, won't you? A bright-eyed village flecks past In the soft, furry night. The song of the rails jumps to the hills And comes back — A far, faint tune. 16 A BOOKKEEPER HAS SPENT HER VACATION IN THE CITY A naked desire runs in the blood of me, like the whipping of eager fires. The car window cools my cheek, as I think of those blue, singing moments when you kissed my lips and throat — And when your slim hands went down the long lines of my body. 17 PORTRAIT You're a good farmer — we all know that — But it seems to me you'd get tired, sometimes, Of braggiu' over the way you grow your corn. You make me sick! You're a player-pianner With only one music roll. MAIN STREET SKETCH A stiffly-smiling shop girl (In her cars the steadj^ drij) of minutes) Measures heliotrope silk With fingers envious, caressing. 19 "THE NEXT DANCE IS A FOX-TROT" Roll your hips and snap your eyes — What do I care ! (You're welcome to that poor rube who thinks your soul is as fresh and white as a Sunday shirt) Press your damp cheek against his — I hope he likes the reek of your violet perfumie. Out in the darkness — prairie darkness — the moon is old and blind. A knot of men, watching at the door, are covered with a fan of light. A clarinet struggles against the tinny clatter; and finally gives it up. Your eyes haA^e tried to freeze me. You 'Cut me dead, eh? Never mind — I won't tell. I'd hate to have 'em know I ever fell for you. 20 GRAY MOOD Snow against a splatter of skyline. Stiff black branches Creaking when the wind goes by. Over all, the gossamer gray dust of dreams. The sand in my hour-glass Is almost all run out. The fire sleeps. I strain to hear echoes — Echoes of elfin melodies, that are dying In the silence. 21 TICK-TOCK Life here is as prosaic As two old women kissing good-bye In a dirty, smoky depot. I #ee a flutter of faces; a fretwork of advertisements, automobiles and street angles. Other wives tell me where to buy potatoes; what sort of apples keep best in the winter, and where to get cleaning women. I live in two worlds, and the tick-tock, whim-wham of life passes when your eyes give me wings. For the time always comes when I drink your kisses and keep your head on my breathing breast. Until that time, Over the fronts of buildings and the faces of the crowd I scribble the words of your name, your name. 22 DECLASSE Today the banker drove by in his big car And never turned his head to speak to me. Now the town thinks I'm a nobody — A bird no better than the rest of 'em. Shall I go tell those gawks who noticed, And leered knowinglj^ at each other, That he's still a good pal of mine — But he's got a boil on his neck? 23 FUTILITY Children Avith runny noses, playing on the floor AYith a new mail-order catalogue, tearing, chewing, cutting it. Trees — with a red moon riding the northern sky . . . Writhing, snaky railroads . . . Sleek logs, bobbing in blue-gold water . . . Steam-fog from paper mills, melting on still air . . . Ink and presses . . . Life's cogwheels . . . Children with runny noses, playing on the floor With a new mail-order catalogue. 24 GROTESQUERIE An office building, by night, Is a tired, sleepy thing. No life- Halls with level piles of dusk. Yet tiny feet scurry somewhere — mice ? A sinking elevator "\Wnks slyly. Mice? .... 25 GLIMMER I'm just a kid, but sometimes I get pretty deep thoughts. Yesterday I went out on "Walnut Creek, 'way over there where the red haws are thick. I went alone — I wanted to think 'bout what I read in my history. This place is where Indians lived. The Sacs and Poxes and Sioux tribes — seems like I remember all of 'em. Old Chief Black Hawk ... I wonder how many more. This place is where Jesse James rode up into, once. Bet he had a black horse and he never whipped him, 'cause he could go like sin. Eight over there — where the hill goes all roly-poly down to "Walnut Creek — why don't they put up some kind of a monument, instead of all them billboards? 26 III. AT THE FEET OE EROS MARGINAL NOTE Perhaps — now that I think of it — miy moods are not always Love's lean and ragged messengers. Instead of making a rondeau or villanelle to her beauty, it may be better to shine my boots and go to meet her. I find that once I have kissed her, I write no more poetry to her .... until we quarrel. Then — ah ! such bitter, exquisite lines ! 31 ROMANCE Gold o' the moon And Pierrot, below my window. His song, mellow and silver-thin. Is of sweet folly; The strings of his mandolin quiver Much as I do. I wonder if he knows my face When he is drunk with song. 32 THE PAGAN SPEAKS I hold a silver coin worn smooth. The head of that proud virgin is gone. There is left but a greasy sleekness. Had it been a shameless woman's head, It would have worn no better. "What matters if my soul be good .... or bad? 33 BOREDOM My mind has jumped three ditches, leaped two hedges and scaled a high stone wall — trying to find for you a something-to-do. And I have failed. You make me feel you do not care I failed. I want to go home to a friend who waits. I want to go to a whimpering little silence who has an old face, and sits in the corner. 34 WONDERMENT The laee at your throat is the white foam thrown on gleaming sands. I tangle my fingers in it, but it falls away, softly .... Has the deep, white bosom of you tossed it up as a promise — of the open sea? 35 EPISODE You unlocked the door . . , that heavily paneled, beautifully carved door which I had always feared and admired — but touched, never. You unlocked the door. Letting me glimpse the garden beyond. Then you slammed it in my face And threw the key into the sea — Laughing .... I can hear you yet! 36 CRI DE COEUR Do you suppose that the man who owns you, ever doubts you? ever thinks another possessed you? You n>ho have lain in m^ arms! I wonder if there are times in the night when a blue flame burns you deeper and still deeper; Or if your sin rises from you, lightly, .... as a smoke curl. 37 OLD AGE Into the boudoir with its rosy lamps Conies daylight, Peering through the slits in the window shades With eyes cold, leaden. The rosy glow slaps him for his rudeness; They come to grips. And he throws her, struggling, On the bed which has a merry coverlet Of vine leaves and blood-red butterflies. 38 DIMINUENDO The blue lips of the sea Are so cold upon the shore. Long ago — aeons ago — The apricot flush faded in the west, And a cold blue mist is flowing the streets. It washes all with a wild and thin despair making things like no color that ever was. It seems to have hidden your features. Are you there ? I have lost the way those bronze lights burned in your hair. The moon is up. Into the distended pupils of my eyes the blue sea is sending its shivers. What good to mourn always? The blue lips of the sea Are so very, very cold. 39 INFIDELITY You think I am very true to you. I shudder to think of the charming foolisliness to be gone through, before I could pull some other woman's head to my breast. 40 WHEN LOVE GOES My heart is like the dusk that has thrilled to an old, old song. My heart is the red cave where you held a torch aloft to carve your pretty name. My heart is like an October sky when the sun has dipped over the west — leaving dust. My heart is a small room that has known cool breezes from a window now closed. My heart is like the dent in do\vny pillows where has been the soft curve of your body. My heart is like an organ left alone. 41 FIDELITY "Are you sure }}ou love me?" What matters whom one kisses, dear? Put forgetfulness on your mouth — it matters not just how; fashion it, a eupid 's bow, or what you will. So long as you have placed it there . . 42 MY SAMPLER Birds of blue and gold, I hem them in with a pink border. Is this forget-me-not lopsided ? I hope you do not laugh. My bodkin, Dancing in the winter sun, Has threaded love into the warm wools. 43 YOUR LOVE LETTERS Thin echoes 111 a room piled high with dusk. 44 TO THE THIRD FROM THE END Ziegfield Follies, 1922 Yes — you're the one I mean, Throw those scarves about your head ! Scarves of friendly silk that kiss your breasts, that follow a waving arm or fall to dimj)led knee. Let your eyes flutter down . . . in a tease of a stare . . . Curve your feet in the air! Make a bacchanal of pink silk and gleaming things until my senses ache. Riot with your body — your God-given body. But tell me — did He give you those mousey eyes 1 45 COMPLIMENT Now that you are gone And the room is quite empty, I wish I might tell someone Of your wonder. But someone knows — The dusk sings of you like viol strings. 46 THOUGHTS WITH APRIL RAIN The tall piuk gerauium and I Have been talking, Until I quite forgpt the time. The April rain has been spitting At the window, But the curtains of laughing chintz Turn their backs on it. . . . .Fingering old loves, I study what is left behind the dust streaks. I wonder which of them was best of all, which I most loved. This one? . . . That one? . . . It was the one who made me suffer most. 47 TO A CAMEO (Lines I shall send to Margotle Ta>hen she asJ^s for an explanation). Why are you so unchanging? He must have had a heart of steel — He who made you, for the world to admire. Have you no other moods? Had He blurred the stone — Oh ! ever so little — I would have loved you. 48 NOVEMBER VIOLETS Rusty scales sag Beneath the load of fuzzy tea, Poured with jerky, uncertain hands By old Josef Antonovjftch. "Half a pound, please." A study in sepia, She smiled to his smile. Billowing brown satin ; old, faded. Gray curl climbing out Away from the rest. Brown and silver. The scales sag with little starts. The finger of the dial points, "One pound." 49 "SPECIAL ON DJER KISS TODAY" 'YeSy thaCs a very good almond cream, ma'am." . . . .AVhite as the milky April sky, like moon shot mists vv'ith heady scents. April and he — waiting. 'This cocoa butter is what men use." Just to see him shaving. Stroke his face, smooth soft face, and let one's fingers crawl under his collar. 'Sony, but we're all cut of that color." Five o'clock, a swept gold sunset. April ghosts climbing the dusk. Hurry ! . . . hurry ! Push the minutes! 50 "special on djer kiss today" 'There goes the bell, Bessie." Burnt-sienna dullness in the streets. Will he come? Awakening — little feet racing clown her veins. Pull the perky yellow hat over one ear, and go — to thrill in his arms ! 51 REMEMBRANCE I sit here, by my open window, And think as yon wished me to, When I watch it. Bnt even that lilac tree can wither. 52 DEFINITION Your soul reminds me Of dirty, stagnant water. When it is stirred It becomes even more muddy. 53 NOSTALGIA Night sifts down On the scribble of housetops. Birds blow like smoke Across a dead, lemon-green sky. . . . From the lavender tinsel of my smoke Your eyes purr out; And little tongues of silence Lap it from the air .... 54 IV. FRAGMENTS: BLUE AND SILVER VANITY The April sky- is very vain of his blue, blue eyes. Yesterday I caught him looking in the mirrors of the rain pools. 59 PIONEER SKETCH A dead moon is dropping down A gray and purple sky. The dusk light hangs out Clumsy shadows on the hills And lets us see each other. Our fire has hidden its face behind gray ash. It is cold ... But soon the sun will lay warm and friendly hands upon our backs. 60 PASTEL Blue and silver frost mark Pointing a long finger on my window ; Behind it (See the ragged, lacey edges!) The red gold of morning sun. 61 AFTER THE RAIN The trees are stiff, artificial, gleaming. Their trunks are buried in the green straw you sometimes see in Easter baskets. The walks are little strips that run by the trees. Correct, prim, running on to other walks. The streets are painted in shining black. A little toy house on the corner. Yellow brick house, with a fountain made of a piece of glass hidden in green straw. A tiny iron deer looking into the fountain. The painted background for this miniature city. Two or three chimneys with stiff smoke. 62 AFTER THE RAIN A fat, ungainly street ear standing very still. The sky is the bluest blue the painter had. Over there — in the left corner- he did a few fancy tricks, plum-blossom clouds. What if a little toy man would come out of the little house on the corner? "When he slammed the door would it startle everything out of this stillness? Would the paper walls shake, the shining green leaves quiver, and the background shiver into life? 63 POETRY I feel the cold rush of matter past me "When I watch those birds — Skiffs upon a blue-green lake. 64 CAMPFIRE Fire caverns glow with violet And run with molten red gold. (I fear, and do not care, to turn and see shadows that this ghost light shakes out) Instead, my eyes sleep on that stark tree, Leaning wearily against the moorh 65 PRELUDE FOR A SONG The dusk, now, is haggard As the cheek of an old musician "Who plays in an alley, At nightfall. 66 A DROP OF OIL Spread your peacock's tail On the black silk of the asphalt. It is raining, But you fleck and slowly turn Your purple, saffron, lilac and jade- A sunset in the rain. Where would our world fall To give the gods a drop of color? 67 TENEBRA The ruins of the day Tumble about me. A tree creaks — Proud battlements sliding into dust. 68 VIGNETTE Behind the splash of orange nasturtiums, The red hollyhocks are trying to set fire To that high stone wall. Their little red tongues dart up With the joy of young flames — Beautifully, uselessly. Somewhere callow youths are writing novels, radicals are struggling for Freedom, rich men are looking for happiness, sh)^ maidens are treasuring an ideal. 69 DANCE MOTIF: ^fcanJon Water in a careless wind or Ghost lights reeling across an October landscape or Chords that leap up into arpeggios or Diana's hair streaming over her shoulders. 70 OUT OF TUNE God said something to the world last night. The trees were startled to stillness, there in the moon shimmer. They heard it. But man — 71 V. BOOK CLOSED ON A FINGER EPHEMERA I saw a child blowing bubbles, today, and I wanted to write a little moral poem about how short life is. But why wasle time writing about such a bubble-thing as life? lb A NEW LOG TO THE FIRE The yellow heart of you, flame, "Withdrew, As if you cared not. I hear you hiss And see you making dark faces. Soon you will come to like that log I gave you. Soon to wrap it In the warm living stuff of you. Dancing, laughing, throwing From you the fullness of your love, Flame, you are a woman ! Are you never afraid to give yourself away ? When you go skipping up the chimney Into nothing. Do you forget, as a woman forgets. That which made you thus? Or do you remember. As a woman remembers? 76 BOOKS Dry husks. But sometimes — if you are patient — You may find a few golden kernels Tliat have escaped the mice of time. 11 A PUBLICIST SACRIFICES HIS CHERISHED OPINIONS I gave my playthings away yesterday. Tlie little boy who lives across the street Came wide-eyed, to watch me Open that dnsty wooden box in the back bedroom. It was dark in the closet, And I had quite a time finding it. A set of crippled lead soldiers, A limp teddy bear wnth one shoe-button eye gone. Blocks and marbles and rags and glass. You know how it feels To give up things you have lived long with, And fondled. 78 ETERNITY A woman's figure frozen In snow-white jade, A cameo. 79 A SNEER FOR A CONTEMPORARY Shuffle your words in little piles. Sort themi — pick out the new ones — Place them end to end And make a pretty pattern, a lovely pile. AYill you always play house with them? 80 COLLEGE Long slipped by — T What can I remember? ... A classroom steeped in drowsy afternoon ... A pipe that smoked well . , . Soft, cherry lips eager for mine . . . And a tenor wail on soft June nigrht. 81 LONGING I liave read a tale of chivalry That sets iu me a strange torment. I linger in the green twilight of Romance, my eyes on a far-off turret where is my love, a prisoner. She stands erect by the window — black robe and gold hair over white shoulders; hair alive and warm as the candle's tip, Avinking in the wind. Ah! that I might be the goblet there before her! That she might lift it to her lips — Dusk-blue eyes appraising — And drink the red Avine of my heart! 82 MATHEMATICS My soul, cut up in fractions And strewn across a dusty blackboard . . . Only to be erased. 83 A DESPONDENT GENIUS I had an Idea. A young, strutting Idea With the most promising tail feathers. I must have been careless, For one day he slipped out of the yard Into the street — And there your dogs killed him. 84 TRISTESSE Life is a naughty boy with an ugly, leering face, who throws stones at you and then runs — laughing — down the street. 85 ILLUSION Slender vase, Tapering like a flower into the sun. Eggshell china, and — Ah! such rose-leaf tinting. Look out! Pool, don't touch it! 86 VI. L'ENVOI MID-A]\IERICANS ! "Why are you mute? Why do you fear to tell us that which you feel . . . . or do you feel? "Why do you go out, away from us, to scream forever of skyscrapers — "poems in stone and steel"? AVhy make nightly visits to see dirty water run under a bridge? W^hy spin sympathetic stanzas to the maudlin soul of a working girl? Why wait for Time to give you a handful of lavender ? 91 MID-AMERICANS ! Does not Annie, who lives across the street, have a smile which promises long, blissful hours ? Have you ever looked into the clean, wind-swept soul of Farmer Weston? And if you've ever seen Aunt Rose's hands . . . Have you ever felt earth smells twist and quiver in the drowsy, poppied sunshine? Have you ever heard the noise of cattle moving, of corn leaves tossing, of horses being fed? . . . And M^hat of some bird's shadow across pools of the harvest moon? Or throbbing sunset fires on that far snow bank? Or the pearl cobwebs that spring rain brings? 92 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proces Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologie! 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