Showing posts with label Black Sun Press. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Black Sun Press. Show all posts

Monday, June 5, 2017

Alastair (Baron Hans Henning Voigt) (1887-1969) ... illustration for Red Skeletons, selected poems of Harry Crosby 1927







Temple De La Douleur - Poem by Harry Crosby


My soul has suffered breaking on the wheel,
Flogging with lead, and felt the twinging ache
Of barbéd hooks and jagged points of steel,
Peine forte et dure, slow burning at the stake,
Blinding and branding, stripping on the rack,
The canque and kourbash and the torquéd screw,
The boot and branks, red scourging on the back,
The gallows and the gibbet. All for you.



These tortures are as nothing to the pain
That I have suffered when you gaze at me
With cold disdainful eyes. You do not deign
To smile or talk or even set me free-
Yet once you let me hold your perfumed hand
And danced with me a stately saraband.



Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Alastair (Baron Hans Henning) & Harry Crosby... illustrations & poem



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  TheYoung Lovers

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The Passionate EmbraceThe Passionate Embrace
 The Passionate Embrace

more HERE


Lit de Mort

I shall not die within a mad man's cell
Or in the city of unconquered pain
Nor on the ocean in a cockle shell
When mad March winds are blowing hurricane.

I shall not die among the multitude
Or as a martyr tortured at the stake,
I shall not die in business servitude
Nor as a soldier for my country's sake;

But i shall die within my lady's arms
And from her mouth drink down the purple wine
And tremble at the touch of naked charms
With silver fingers seeking to entwine.

My dying words shall be a lover's sighs
Beyond the last faint rhythm of her thighs.



Monday, January 23, 2012

Dolorosa ... a drawing for Harry Crosby 2012




...if it were not for you...


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The Sun in unconcealed rage
Glares down across the magic of the world

The sun within us, that sways un incalculably.


At night

Swift to the Sun
Deep imaged in my soul
But during the long day black lands
To cross
And it is faith in the incalculable sun, inner and outer, which keeps us alive.
Sunmaid
Left by the tide
I bring you a conch-shell
That listening to the Sun you may
Revive
          And there is always the battle of the sun, against the corrosive acid vapour of vanity and poisonous conceit, which is the breath of the world.
Dark clouds
Are not so dark
As our embittered thoughts
Which carve strange silences within
The Sun

 HARRY CROSBY ~ CHARIOT OF THE SUN