The Project Gutenberg eBook of poems of yes and no This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. *** This is a COPYRIGHTED Project Gutenberg eBook. Details Below. *** *** Please follow the copyright guidelines in this file. *** Title: poems of yes and no Author: Elizabeth Bartlett Release date: October 11, 2018 [eBook #58080] Language: English Credits: Produced by Al Haines, produced from scans provided by Steven Bartlett *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF YES AND NO *** Produced by Al Haines, produced from scans provided by Steven Bartlett [Illustration: Cover art] POEMS OF YES AND NO Elizabeth Bartlett _Poems of Yes and No_, was originally published in 1952 by Editorial Jus in Mexico City, and is now out-of-print. The author's literary executor, Steven James Bartlett, has decided to make the book available as an open access publication, freely available to readers through Project Gutenberg under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-NoDerivs license, which allows anyone to distribute this work without changes to its content, provided that both the author and the original URL from which this work was obtained are mentioned, that the contents of this work are not used for commercial purposes or profit, and that this work will not be used without the copyright holder's written permission in derivative works (i.e., you may not alter, transform, or build upon this work without such permission). The full legal statement of this license may be found at: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/legalcode [Illustration: Creative Commons logo] poems of yes and no elizabeth bartlett editorial jus méxico some of these poems have appeared in poetry chapbook, arizona quarterly, southwest review, prairie schooner, university of kansas city review, new york times and mexican life magazine yes, paul -- with all my heart first edition 1952 number 2 contents yes search the wild wind lesson on five fingers journey to jerusalem prayer for four seasons ekstasis challenge while I live odyssey life I love mood on a string time is a palette dusk I love the lovers whatever else may be tropic time stormbird the wind and the rain art diary grassflesh the now and here swallows return reply to critics no step softly I would remember now and forever catchtraps beyond cost summer and winter suddenly item: body found on trial guadalajara pilgrimage washday in the tropics only this maturity alter ego this much I know about time in the wake of sleep cold wakening weather forecast measured interval black sun log for a voyage notes for the future yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes search the wild wind search the wild wind when the foals of spring leap by leave the summer colts behind nose up, head high stretch the hill's ribs when the stable gates are wide lead the mares from manger cribs stallion with pride reach the storm's heart when the world is lost to sight buck the sky and cliffs apart clouds black, snow white pitch a new tent when the greengrass disappears paw beneath the crystal scent sweet leaves, fresh spears march with the dawn when the nights grow long and cold seek for pastures not yet born rider, be bold lesson on five fingers now that I have learned how seasons are returned brook my laughter here to the running years waterfall the fears now that I realize how much the world denies green my sense leaves bright to chlorophyl of light photocell the nights now that I have found how each must choose his ground terrace my piece of time to a hill of sweet limes stairway the climb now that I have seen how cunning walks between mountain my trust high to the pigmy wise landslide the lies now that I understand how heart unites with hand radar the future free to the dove singing me laurel the peace journey to jerusalem sky our thoughts to midnight that hold no noon's repose silence speaks in clearer voice than day's tumultuous crows unpave the streets to earthscape grass pillow to our heads as virgin stars attend once more moon music forested mountain our hearts to the lion tender our hands to the dove olive the branch over zion to israelite our love flower this hope to the springtime summer our dream with its fruit festive the fields in the autumn winter the future's root prayer for four seasons rain, rain on me make me green as lettuce leaf at spring's fresh core sun, shine on me burn me bright as coral reef on island shore wind, blow on me sweep me clean as grain fields tall for autumn's mill stars, sing for me lark the night as snowflakes fall on woods and hill ekstasis all the hills of the world lie here aeolus ride your winds the skybound clouds leap out like deer daedalus fly your wings the fields are green with sun and shade pegasus strike your hoof the silence sings, the people fade hesperus light my roof the ocean's wide and far away tantalus drink your fill no distant lands draw me astray orpheus bring your skill olympus is within my heart poetry lift me high with pagan joy I sing my art melody till I die challenge tell me, in this high land of mountained length where time is green and space big-bellied with fruitful plains rockribbed by corn and bean for simple courage, do you know strength as something earned through bitterness of need in narrow streets and tortured rooms, oh hungry lean listen, above the winding road come sounds descending on bells, sky voices and wind mixing with the shy four footed ones' cries, what do they tell, can you hear from the grounds of city skyscrapers through the tunnelthinned walls that rail the nervetracked brain with wooden ties look you, whose eyes are wise with too much seen through doors and windows, in whom the sunlight is confined by steel canyons and arctic nights, here is heart space, here clouds rise between warm currents to open roofs, see how the height of climb and width of free brightens to tropic taste this, you tongue lovers, you gourmets, you who know the ends for which the palette buds bloom to burst on a thousand sauces, wines, rare meats and molded cheeses, what brew is this, what essence extracted from muds and rooted origins of leaf that taste defines breathe, ah breathe again, purge out the unclear lungs, the downbent head, smell has other use than multiplies in shop and factory to substitute the sense, no need to fear the pure air here, to hide subtle and obtuse behind the mob's excuse, here the wind blows free reach out, know touch as up and down, the span of head to heel, thigh to shoulder, each side with rough of bark to blossom, stone to dust, how else but by the feel, the real, can man press nature to his will and impel his pride in shaping to his needs an earth which he can trust go up, your feet will take you high above streets and buildings to a new position forget the old appointments, you have a more important one with God to measure love not by the scrupled ways of acquisition but freely as the stars that follow and explore while I live my love is a hart seeking the waterfall where he may press two lips against its crystal depths--see how he leaps to kiss the imaged mist that bubbles up beneath him--he staggers, kissed my love is an alpine trail that mountains climb above clouds and timber to heights out of time and measure--no distance there or memory for weak foot and tired brain--but death only my love is a trumpet sustaining its call to the last clear breath--listen, the interval, out of canyon silences, on the dry wind, the throat of night catches, its echoes are thinned my love is a dream where childhood fell asleep beckoned by shadows that lengthen as they creep; now she sighs, weeps, losing her way--morning wakes the sleeper and she smiles, her eyes are lakes odyssey ah never say the dreams were false that boy and girl were madly bold not time but timeless changes all man and woman we should know what we dreamed was what we were and could not timeless be two strange wild things in universe too tame for altering then let them keep without reserve the wings they had prepared and while we walk a humbled earth see them with spirit dare life I love life I love who know the heart's unease the mind's disease, the search unending to a blind conclusion I have gone so many ways towards praise, away from blame to find seclusion known coldest doubt and passionate release the after peace of countless wars grown tired by their own diffusion how many changes seen: chance days nights, the grays of violent and tame mixed in the time's confusion dreamed plans, wished hopes without cease no single piece of life sought without delusion and yet have loved each coming, going blaze each phase, willed and thrilled to every flame that brightened the illusion then let me know death as one who foresees breath's end to seize a new beginning through the soul's transfusion mood on a string again the after rain and shine of night when mellow yellow patternings of light make rivers run through streets of mirrors bright to where the air brings thought from its seclude as though a silver magnet drew a rood about the mind's internal solitude then is the darkness gentle to my sight with glossy lamps to toss me into flight and give to sleep the freeness of a kite that after storm can rise in amplitude above the clinging wet still unsubdued to sail in lonely splendor wind pursued time is a palette each day has its color radiates each day its own color on the wheel endlessly and they are wrong who say all colors are gray they are blind or else unimaginatively well I remember the primary days the reds and yellows and blues those brilliant saturated hues each its own bright self intensively a day red as a ripe warm plum on the mouth staining chin and blouse with summer while leaves on a red tree flamed in crimson joy shamelessly and there were other reds for feathers dipped in blood to sign youth's honor on a windless sky running over rooftops most solemneyed earnestly or red for something velvet deep over quivering flesh and trembling hair stabbing the breath with a wild commotion like coroncitas on a christmas tree ecstatically a vivid red each time coloring morning to evening canvas of that particular day connecting sleep with sleep in the intimate dye imperishably yellow was first word for gold then sun and it was always rich like the promise of a wedding ring or shining birthday coin inevitably yellow was wish more often than anything seen or heard except for the canary my father kept as his own yellow sign pure and unalloyed incorruptibly mostly it was feeling the evidence and substance in one symbol of perfection and as rare when harsh-cold-rough were there it wasn't yellow changelessly precious as treasure awarded by the gods to saint and hero like the holy grail the lost chord those unrecoverable legends fabulously blue was definite less temperamental than red more tangible than yellow like summer sigh or puff of winter air the outlines of dawn to dusk distinguishably blue was practical and necessary like the blueing used in my mother's wash like smoke water air and sky blue for everything clear and understandable unmistakably but blue had magic too meaning giant ships and giant fish rockets to the moon and planet shores too big and far away too terribly true incredibly a glamorous color blue suiting cinderella's glass slipper forget me nots and chinese porcelain and once I found a blue shell so fragile I let it crumble on the sand irretrievably but even the primary colors are not all the colors and each day has its color each day radiates its own color on the wheel endlessly and they are wrong who say all colors are gray unable to remember unwilling to separate with desperate impatience unimaginatively dusk I love dusk I love who know the morning's light the night's darkness, the black and white of yes and no and all false and true I have lived with definite so long with wrong and right, with weak and strong with how much undefined dusk by you for I have seen the between hours when towers grew soft as flowers and cold stones were stemmed in warmest hue and I have watched a kind gentle grace take place behind the coarser face unloose the many masks old and new I too felt the purple air's dissent from meant purpose and clear intent nothing certain but a changing view then let me have time's dusk perspective to give the life men think they live an outer shape and an inner clue the lovers after the sunlight over barren fields after the dry wind through stony creeks we found our little green where lilies were and knee deep oxen stood watching us triumphant under trees... for this was peace as nature meant nature's peace to be with fertile soil made ready by its need with instincts tamed in gentler ways than fear with freedom measured freely as the sky measures breath... we lay there side by side breathing kisses, feeling the wet and cool of bodies grassed in loving, each a groove within a groove seeking counterpart with close-open-close, with light in dark and waves lapping... we heard the overflow of lake on buttressed dam down sluiced walls making music in ditches, singing birth to stalks in the earth, with giant surge of up and out bringing humanity a greater day for love... then happily we rose and barefoot walked the golden green to where horses and men waded beneath multifoliate rays of setting sun their work done before the darkness come to cheat them... together all of us swam glad for the fresh clean water which ran on hands and hoofs, on flesh and hide, like beams bathing between, feeling our oneness sweet reward, for the sun was a broken sword pointing the peace towards our tomorrow whatever else may be as long as you're happy there were flowers on the street and sweetmeats at noon and a high wind in the towers ceaselessly as long as you're happy there were mornings in the sun and nights in the moon and a magic in the warnings heedlessly as long as it was long heart was head and hands were feet heat was heavy, still and words were trees with roots of red urgently as long as--happy song wish was flight and new worlds won space was empty, chill and lips were birds with feathers light fervently for long is as long as life is as strong as ah to be happy and free tropic time here before old leaves go new leaves come in here before old loves know new loves begin now when the year's one spring no season chills now when the fear's one thing no reason kills this is time after then there was regret this time is laughter when where we forget stormbird the winds have abated and the rain now the lonely dark comes again with blue lines running in the mind with hands explorative and blind (was it the bitter taste of smoke or pepper berries? lips parted spoke words out of kisses bringing fears no nearer to relief than tears) now memory is of lightning, flares in the night, with darkeyed cares encircling universes strange as the skies through which they range thunder removes to distant space-- from quiet woods where ancient grace roots tree in soil and lake is mild only the stormbird's flight is wild the wind and the rain thoughts in my head like wind through pines lift to north veer to south shift to east rear to west the wind not the pines till my thoughts are dead love in my heart like rain on dust stirs to dawn dries to noon whirs to dusk cries to night the rain not the dust till my love depart art worthier than words the meaning kiss which makes true poetry of lips which sets a wisdom into rhyme no pen can simulate by line music has cadence but heartbeats sound what no ear ever tuned beyond a harmony so fully sensed that voice is mute with instrument imperative to move the dancer's arms would free the body from those bonds wherein an inner rhythm leaps secret with wonder, flow and cease the eye's canvas such beauty lights of shade and color and design that brush must hesitate to set a lesser skill on palimpsest yet kiss is brief and heartbeat slows while freedom captivates us most and beauty turns to counterfeit the images lost in memory's mist diary returning miles of space can you find the precise hour travel through that day locate the very moment ago there the train goes back and forth stops at what time stations monday morning january tenth autumn ten years ago then the boat arrives departs ticket pier cabin port pre-war london paris rome before the depression remember where the plane roars lifts the earth speeds me a century past sound past light we know the way back remember when and buses taxis subways trams for how long how far conversations so much so many who and what and love and life and yes again name place date pen grass flesh the deep of night is crept upon our talk and what we had to say the wind will keep until our tongues can thrust up through the stalk and stay the light; meanwhile let silence sleep between us remembering what we were before our eyes were covered by the dark lovers who saw beauty in each other and from the clay drew forth an hour's spark that hour can not die, though we must lie with stiffened arms about an earth which turned about us once to prove how much of sky there is in love's embrace; our kisses burned the millioned lightyeared stars that now must roam the space of all eternity till dust can rise on flaming wings to plume the dome with fires kindled by our mortal lust what triumphs we have known within the mesh of failure, time can not scrape from our bones; out of the pregnant dreams of our grass flesh a fertile spring will issue from the stones and flower like our songs in crimson mirth; each hidden sense that death but borrows here to bring about its own more perfect birth with quickened breath will help new life appear the now and here the sunlit trees along the quiet street enclose the afternoon on either side their shadows dark and still the dozing heat and there is no morning or night to hide it might be anywhere the now and here when the heart is simple and forgets the brain in france on a river or a hill in spain when life was peaceful and there was no fear the reminiscent chord the piano strikes returns us again to the slow learned ease of oars on a boat and the long road hikes the faces and voices like melodies then old folks gladdened the spry basque danses as student groups mingled to learn quaint ways and families gathered for shore holidays with poppies in the sun and vins des provences in the city of the mind thoughts like these graze quietly in distant valleys as though time's gaps lay between a range of sunlit afternoons that never change swallows return o spring thaw out my winter's chill so cold I might be buried still beneath the snow long years I lay as one whose night strong arms had banished from the light to mute my song now wake me from oblivion bow down and lift me to the sun like earth to plow prepare for me some green retreat enough for summer to complete its ecstasy let autumn shake its leaves at me set laughter whirling from each tree and I forget then should my winter come at last when darkened shadows overcast the fields of men I'll gladly say goodbye and go while memories warm me with their glow across the stile for every year my dust shall rise o'er mud and rust to welcome skies where swallows soar reply to critics tell them who scorn my ways I lived without their praise and will until I die let them be cynical I have my own faith still to question and deny the proud and stiff of neck the small who grub and peck both look too low or high while I but seek to know the feel of things that grow and by my living why no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no step softly step softly your feet are on my heart the sawdust underneath hurts less than I even sawdust, dry and dirtied by our not particular feet it's something deep inside that aches I know not why unless the pride mistakes for the heart that only guesses still will bear the feet that walk upon it but not the heart that knows too often it confesses and breaks I would remember I have walked from river's end to end a slow companion to the light seagulls that circle overhead and I have stood still above the bend that separates the foot from distant hulls to fill my eye with flying sails wings spread I have watched them many times from where the far shore curves around the sun and holds it there ensnared while they advanced then dropped midair instinct with seaward gravitation and hungry claws prepared their wings some shimmering things the wind has caught and suddenly flings in a rain of gold I am not old and yet when night brings me to town I forget their wings and drown now and forever now might I keep you forever thus unchanged against the eventual day for both of us arranged when the rude winds shall bring no promise of another spring but cold and comfortless satisfaction the grave's discreet and quiet action I would not mind the days precisioned to the clock's unwinding flesh to flesh binding would find some way as yet unvisioned some way to forget the fever and the sweat here where lovers have known the soft of hair and hard of bone hearing each other moan a way more conscionably kind for a night's repose but time defined forbids us to dispose of even one brief moment that has passed or keep the moment thus forever fast catchtraps we knew the words before we knew their meaning who asked so many whys while still in weaning how many pitfalls marked with skull and crossbones to outwit those who lay beneath the moss stones then set about to verify the answers seeking in us the cause of others' cancers so found ourselves new victims of time's catchtraps and now must moan and curse until the latch snaps beyond cost darling don't be lost to me the fear was there under the sleeve lifting the hair darling don't be lost to me it was a prayer caught like a leaf burning in air darling you are tossed from me the year is bare wonder and grief drifting to where darling you are tossed from me what here more rare thought like a thief turning to stare summer and winter so many years of many seasons we saw and found together snapped grassroots trembling to the spring plucked berries out of harvesting caught swirling autumn down from trees about us drew a sunbright frieze oh summer was our weather but winter was in our hearts how many years of many reasons convinced us not to part remembering the search for first green bud the rain paths rainbowed in the mud the cheep behind the window ledge the shutter like a moonshined wedge oh summer was our weather but winter was in our hearts too many years, too many years we lived and loved together for oh my dear the winter fears destroyed the summer weather for doubts can frost and worries blight the careful seed, the ripened stacks and questions when they come by night leave barren fields behind their tracks suddenly there was sun and moon and stars and night and day all taken for granted then no sun no moon no stars no night no day forsaken transplanted there was sight and sound and touch and someone there as always forever then an empty silence such as none aware of hallways to never item: body found it was a silent evening I remember through the river's mist it comes to me a star pierced the air, white with speed it leaped across the sky, slipped and fell I heard its cry, it echoed in the sea the swift wild cry of the scornful ember alone I stood there, never had I need of fellow rebel more, I a rebel down the dark beach I ran, I stripped, time was an eyeless reach across immensity and I plunged deeply, they blamed it on the tide the night, they had not seen infinity like a vast unchanging vista wide before me. if you go too far you'll drown they said, ah no, they know the sublime who reach for the falling star and go down on trial the day to day commitment to failure that judgment daily argues against me condemns me to despair... I am guilty of more than silence... at times words fail your wisest men and then intentionally... but my silence like all my secrecies has no defense, none conventionally, my personal idiosyncrasies no social crimes... when pride is pain and shame an agony too keen for reason I had no other weapon, who is to blame? there was no intent to deceive or lie... my absence is sufficient evidence, voluntary exile, not providence guadalajara water running over stone overrun my heart water running over stone overcome my start now wear down my sorrow wash away my fears I have mourned tomorrow widowed by the years (water running over stone hard it is to be alone) water running over stone canyon deep inside water running over stone canyon steep and wide now let a river flow strong and continuous out of the desert grow green bouldered oasis (flat and dry of emery plateaus on my memory) water running over stone be the blood within my bone water running over stone take me and make me your own pilgrimage now that the flame has died which burned in us burned too intense for living with, beside and we have cooled to the quieter dust so comfortably and separately you and I let us lift to the wind and drift from our pyre as passionlessly and still as those destined candles of the mind whose pilgrimage through night ends with a dawn cold white and all their flames relit washday in the tropics the sun tropics down my days with heat of roof and balcony drying me out like morning's wash on mudbaked brick and shrubbery the clouds are bleached by lye and ash to make a stiff and faultless sky and spotless leaves hang limp on trees without the energy to die flies buzz... cock calls... the hammock swings with eye asquint to palmribbed light while smoke coughs up the desert air between straw sips of cool and white where cactus pricks the sunscorched haze against the rainless afternoon three zopilotes sit and wait to pick apart the carcass moon and still more scrub of soap on stone with slap and shake and fling of wrist though I unsmooth each ironed piece before night creeps along the mist only this I return to old complaints like the earth to its seasons the church has its saints and I my reasons one needs to know trees their leaves, bark and roots to perceive what one sees-- the mind has no shoots only this: the older I grow the more I feel, not know the need of believing-- my youth is leaving maturity for years I watched it grow in thought and shape a man though it was smaller then and mild I was in fact a gentle child the words it spoke were songs the air it breathed seemed sweet its eyes saw more than was to see the world I loved was meant for me each day it woke the sun and played till time had tired then put the night to sleep in bed I dreamed the sky was underhead when it was glad I joyed when it was sad I grieved joy and grief were never lonely I had myself for company the seasons came and went and with them went we two the fallen leaves now memories of years grown thick as forest trees till knowledge found us there and taught us false from true how much the simple lesson cost I gained a world not worth the lost alter ego always He was there facing me where the others could not see they never believed me He stood in the shadows like a tree posed in sunlight when the woods are darkly bright but they saw only black and white as I impatiently cried fools are you blind they looked at me their eyes were not unkind when He spoke I heard each word distinctly spoken the silence broken was what He said but they only shook their heads as I repeatedly cried fools can't you hear gently they answered me your voice is clear when He wept they wiped my tears kept me consoled for the pain He felt fools are you so old you have no fears, have you no heart that grief can melt I insisted through the years but they would not depart when He slipped they caught me in their arms ripped the garments from my wound and staunched the flow fools let me go let me go I shouted in alarm as He swooned and still they did not see the shadows by the tree they never believed me then He was dying and I knew dying too that they would bury me there beside the tree where no one else could see but the fools were crying because I was lying so quietly watching the shadows and waiting this much I know about time there is safety only in the heart guard it well my love where is beauty lonely in the mart hard to sell my dove fame is rider pawing wind and cloud fool to reach so far blame is spider drawing in the crowd cruel of speech they are joys are token mainly for regret high the score I played toys are broken plainly to forget buy no more I said breath is fearless bolder than the mind few will sight my spire death is cheerless colder than the wind who will light my fire in the wake of sleep storm in the brain whips the dull season high while dunes of repetition pile against the night sandscarred to flight... hurriedly the shore frightened by tide sliding out from cat's paw scurries behind land's door, turns key in lock and dims the light... now wind and rain can rock the mind to a wild ship's bow, ride down a mile climb up a wall to mountain height of sky... dreams crash each side, tear anchor loose from sleep and madly race the lightning out to sea... everything changes: hands feet eyes the face of storm, all composition of the gray sameness, walls razed, roofs blown, the no of drought flooded out... the revenging dog barks loud across the fog and we wake to the nightmare violence of day, salt in mouth, sand in hair cold wakening for thirty years I lived a dream until I woke up with a scream and saw that all the things I'd dreamt had vanished in the dawn's contempt it was not I within the glass it was my mother's face alas a face so changed from mine I'd known I thought the years had turned to stone and where were all my innocence my glad beliefs and magic pence that I had saved to travel through a timeless world where dreams come true? not anything inside my hand no moment's evidence of sand just grayish pulp to make me damn the heartless proof I think, I am? the dream is gone and still as ice that glaciers down some mountain splice and I am carried underneath with stones to cling to by my teeth weather forecast always before the final terror a luscious peace not yet the signal bell not yet the swift alarm the sleeper has another hour the worker has a holiday still eases the dawn forward still comes the morning toward open the cities' piers open frontiers an early spring being everything the last kiss like the first the best without the worst always after the initial fear a new release not yet the sharp compel not yet the threatened harm the body has a lazy power the brain has an agile way so warm the fireside within so rich the harvest every bin secure the outer walls secure the stalls a deep serenity without enmity the first signs like the last the future in the past measured interval the morning speeds to a full stop lands in the park and lights a cigarette-- still fifteen minutes to burn and then noon the train comes along, drops through the darkness and forgets-- till five o'clock returns and the news night wakes with a gong rings bells in the brain and runs off shouting-- sleep dresses itself and wakes, shaking skies ricochet downward, prong ciliate streaks of rain with gun shells routing-- a mad head on a shelf laughs, breaking now the moon blankets over the dead the warmth their lover bodies were denied they lie on alien bed who failed to live who tried, whose eyes are wide to heaven knows what stars what glories fugitive o tell me mars to every action is there an equal and opposite reaction black sun the night is white, ah strange the world I knew grown changed for sun is black with days I can not see amazed all has reversed, gone void each thought a masked deploy confusing sense: heat cold more less, body and soul only the light of dreams in which I stand blasphemed lost blind, a sack of straw facing windy mouths abhorred land is accursed, sea slimed with foulest human crimes at what expense to hide the fratricidal eye the ghosts of years file past like candles in a glass and I a sound unheard to stop the murderer dawn chanticleers no peace there is no west no east space closes round the speck man claims as architect log for a voyage we have taken to words on page without speech we have taken to birds in cage within reach forsaken the meaning of lips forsaken the free wing that dips we have shaken the fruitful tree of belief we have shaken the brutal sea for relief mistaken the evils of sin mistaken the wheels that spin then who of us shall slake the salt wound on the tongue who shall wake the nightingales marooned here among o wander the world for the garden that lies on the floor of atlantis or roof of the skies from its seed breed a new race of life loving men from its reed and papyrus make music again notes for the future light destroyed by minds only the stars might destroyed by hands only the stones no other language but signs no other knowledge but clans time reduced by fear only the sun space reduced by force only the hunt each one yoked from head to knee each one racked by tooth and claw ears condemned to hope only the drum eyes condemned to ape only the dream this book is a signed limited edition designed by the author set in cheltonian type printed on biblios paper published and distributed by editorial jus mejia number 19 mexico city ABOUT THE AUTHOR Elizabeth Bartlett (1911-1994) was an American poet and writer noted for her lyrical and symbolic poetry, creation of the new twelve-tone form of poetry, founder of the international non-profit organization Literary Olympics, Inc., and known as an author of fiction, essays, reviews, translations, and as an editor. She is not to be confused with the British poet (1924-2008) of the same name. For more detailed information about her life, work, and critical commendations, see the Wikipedia article http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Bartlett_%28American_poet%29. Bartlett's most notable achievements include: * Creation of a new form of poetry, "the twelve-tone poem," adapting Arnold Schonberg's musical system to the verbal, accented sounds of language. Called "the Emily Dickinson of the 20th Century," her concise lyrics have been praised by poets, musicians, and composers alike. * Publication of 16 books of poetry, a group of edited anthologies, and more than 1,000 poems, short stories, and essays published, for example, in _Harper's_, _Virginia Quarterly_, _New York Times_, _North American Review_, _Saturday Review_, _Prairie Schooner_, and in numerous international collections. * Recipient of many fellowships, grants and awards, including NEA, PEN Syndicate, fellowships at the Huntington Hartford Foundation, Montalvo, Yaddo, MacDowell, Dorland Mt. Colony and Ragdale, travel grants, and honors for introducing literature as part of the Olympics. * Founder of the Literary Olympics, to restore literature, specifically poetry, as a vital part of the Olympics as it once had been in ancient Greece. Bartlett's poetry came to the attention of leading poets, writers, and critics as diverse as Marianne Moore, Wallace Stevens, Mark Van Doren, Conrad Aiken, Allen Tate, Alfred Kreymborg, Robert Hillyer, Louis Untermeyer, Rolfe Humphries, John Ciardi, Richard Eberhart, Richard Wilbur, Maxine Kumin, Robert M. Hutchins, Kenneth Rexroth, William Stafford, and others. Over the years, Bartlett maintained an active and extensive correspondence with eminent poets, writers, and literary critics; evident throughout this collected literary correspondence are strong statements attesting to the importance of her work. About her first book of poetry, _Poems of Yes and No_, Marianne Moore wrote: "I surely find good in the _Poems of Yes and No_.... The clearness of the book is certainly beautiful." Wallace Stevens was impressed by _Poems of Yes and No_ and wrote: "Your poems give one a sense of intelligence and sensibility." Alfred Kreymborg was enthusiastic about the book: "You have found a style of your own and developed it. I say yes to your _Poems of Yes and No_. This is a distinguished volume as a whole. I wish you well with this warm book. Any poet might envy the courage and artistry of what you say, or rather sing, there." Further commendation came from Robert Hillyer, who wrote: "Your poems are moving and unusual.... A distinguished achievement!" Her husband, Paul Alexander Bartlett (1909-1990) was an American writer, artist, and poet. He made a large-scale study of more than 350 Mexican haciendas, published novels, short stories, and poetry, and worked as a fine artist in a variety of media. For more detailed information about his life and work, see the Wikipedia article https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Alexander_Bartlett. Elizabeth Bartlett's son, Steven James Bartlett (1945- ), is a psychologist and philosopher who has published many books and articles in the fields of philosophy and psychology. For more detailed information about his life and work, see the Wikipedia article https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steven_James_Bartlett. End of Project Gutenberg's poems of yes and no, by Bartlett, Elizabeth *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF YES AND NO *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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