Sunday Morning: Difference between revisions
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<meta | <meta | ||
author=" | author="Mac-Neice, Louis" | ||
year_of_publication="1923" | year_of_publication="1923" | ||
genre="Poetry" | genre="Poetry" | ||
publisher=" | publisher="Faber and Faber" | ||
journal="The Faber Book of Modern Verses" | journal="The Faber Book of Modern Verses" | ||
page_range="304" | page_range="304" | ||
/> | /> | ||
<annotations> | <annotations> | ||
<paragraph keywords=" | |||
<paragraph keywords="pleasure, speed, maintenance, car part, road, architecture, music, sound, metaphor, haptic, death"> | |||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
Down the road someone is practising scales, | Down the road someone is practising scales, | ||
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For this is Sunday morning, Fate’s great bazaar, | For this is Sunday morning, Fate’s great bazaar, | ||
Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now, | Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now, | ||
And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead | And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead anyhow, | ||
anyhow, | |||
Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast | Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast | ||
That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past, | That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past, | ||
That you can abstract this day and make it to the week | That you can abstract this day and make it to the week of time | ||
of time | |||
A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme. | A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme. | ||
But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church | But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire | ||
spire | Opens its eight bells out, skulls’ mouths which will not tire | ||
Opens its eight bells out, skulls’ mouths which will not | To tell how there is no music or movement which secures | ||
tire | Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures. | ||
To tell how there is no music or movement which | |||
secures | |||
Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and | |||
endures. | |||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
</paragraph> | </paragraph> | ||
</annotations> | </annotations> | ||
Revision as of 14:21, 1 July 2024
| Author | Mac-Neice, Louis |
|---|---|
| Genre | Poetry |
| Journal or Book | The Faber Book of Modern Verses |
| Publisher | Faber and Faber |
| Year of Publication | 1923 |
| Pages | 304 |
| Additional information | - |
Down the road someone is practising scales,
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails,
Man’s heart expands to tinker with his car
For this is Sunday morning, Fate’s great bazaar,
Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now,
And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead anyhow,
Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast
That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past,
That you can abstract this day and make it to the week of time
A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme.
But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire
Opens its eight bells out, skulls’ mouths which will not tire
To tell how there is no music or movement which secures
Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures.
pleasurespeedmaintenancecar partroadarchitecturemusicsoundmetaphorhapticdeath
