Above the Dock
I post this short poem by T.E.Hulme, an acerbic casualty of the Great War, because the moon has been doing things like this above the docks, sadly not really much used, in Galway. Ezra Pound printed it with Hulme’s very few other terse poems in his collection Personae, with the note that ‘in publishing his Complete Works at thirty, Mr Hulme has set an enviable example to many of his contemporaries who have had less to say.’
Above the Dock
Above the quiet dock in mid night,
Tangled in the tall mast’s corded height,
Hangs the moon. What seemed so far away
Is but a child’s balloon, forgotten after play.
thebicyclops 