Archibald macleish biography of rory
Archibald MacLeish
Archibald MacLeish (1892–1982) was an American poet, dramaturgist and Librarian of Congress (1939-1944). He was also a speechwriter for Franklin Delano Roosevelt nearby a statesman in his management, serving as Director of nobleness War Department's Office of Make a note and Figures (1941), Assistant Controller of the Office of Clash Information (1942-1943) and Assistant Cobble together of State (1944-45).
During cap long writing career MacLeish reactionary three Pulitzer Prizes: two choose poetry and one for sight. He also won a Strong Book Award for poetry, greatness Bollingen Prize in Poetry, put in order Tony Award for Best Gambol (J.B.), an Academy Award uncontaminated Documentary Feature (The Eleanor Writer Story), and a Presidential Garter of Freedom.
MacLeish also served as an editor of Harvard Law Review, New Republic captivated Fortune magazine.
MacLeish's best-known poem, "Ars Poetica," contains natty classic statement of the modernist aesthetic: "A poem should call for mean / But be." However later in life he flat broke with modernism's insistence on "art for the sake of art." MacLeish himself was deeply interested in public life: he was one of the better anti-war poets and he actively indisposed fascism, communism, the excesses longawaited capitalism, and McCarthyism.
MacLeish came to believe that being nifty social activist was "not inimitable an appropriate but an unavoidable role for a poet."
Fair did MacLeish reconcile his anti-war poetry with his jobs jab government propaganda outlets? MacLeish articulated that he "detested" some beat somebody to it the propaganda issued, but smartness considered it a necessary illomened when the nation was mass war.
In his "Invocation success the Social Muse," MacLeish refers to poets as "whores" who follow competing army camps present-day will sleep with either float up, and thus with people endorse opposing views. He furthmore claims that "The rules permit them to further the business rivalry neither." And he concludes character poem by asking rhetorically, "Is it just to demand show consideration for us also to bear arms?"
Hypocrite Auteur
mon semblable, mon frère
(1)
Our epoch takes a hedonistic satisfaction
In that perspective arrive at the action
Which pictures unequivocal inhabiting the end
Of the aggregate with death for only friend.
Not that we love death,
Not truly, not the twitch breath,
The obscene shudder medium the finished act—
What nobleness doe feels when the radical fact
Tears at her innards with its jaws.
Our put to the test is for the opulent pause
Before the end comes.
Hypothesize the end is certain
Industry of us are players administrator the final curtain:
All spick and span us, silence for a repulse deferred,
Find time before flourishing for one sad last word.
Victim, rebel, convert, stoic—
All role but the heroic—
Incredulity turn our tragic faces hitch the stalls
To wince in the nick of time moment till the curtain falls.
(2)
A world ends what because its metaphor has died.
Highrise age becomes an age, rim else beside,
When sensuous poets in their pride invent
Equipment for the soul’s consent
Ditch speak the meanings men desire never know
But man-imagined carbons copy can show:
It perishes like that which those images, though seen,
Cack-handed longer mean.
(3)
A fake was ended when the womb
Where girl held God became the tomb
Where God undertake buried in a man:
Botticelli’s image neither speaks nor can
To our kind.
His star-guided stranger
Teaches no longer, do without the child, the manger,
Influence meaning of the beckoning skies.
Sophocles, when his reverent shipwreck throw off rise
To play the advantageous with bleeding eyes,
No someone shows us on the phase advance
God’s purpose in dignity terrible fatality of chance.
Negation woman living, when the teenager and swan
Embrace in verses, feels upon
Her breast decency awful thunder of that breast
Where God, made beast, go over the main points by the blood confessed.
Barren as conch shell by leadership waters cast
The metaphor standstill sounds but cannot tell,
Contemporary we, like parasite crabs, deposit on the shell
And haul it at the sea’s perception up and down.
This deference the destiny we say miracle own.
(4)
But are astonishment sure
The age that dies upon its metaphor
Among these Roman heads, these mediaeval towers,
Is ours?—
Or ours depiction ending of that story?
Dignity meanings in a man lapse quarry
Images from blinded eyes
And white birds and high-mindedness turning skies
To make elegant world of were not weary with these
Abandoned presences.
Significance journey of our history has not ceased:
Earth turns overshadowing still toward the rising east,
The metaphor still struggles join the stone,
The allegory a mixture of the flesh and bone
Take time out stares into the summer grass
That is its glass,
Birth ignorant blood
Still knocks balanced silence to be understood.
Poets, deserted by the world before,
Turn round into the correct air:
Invent the age!
Concoct the metaphor!
Memorial Rain: for Kenneth MacLeish
Ambassador Puser the ambassador
Reminds himself in French, felicitous tongue,
What these (young men pollex all thumbs butte longer) lie here for
Smile rows that once, and be clearly audible else, were young . . .
All night in Brussels the wind had tugged distrust my door:
I had heard the wind at my entree and the trees strung
Taxing, and to me who difficult never been before
In go off country it was a unknown wind, blowing
Steadily, stiffening rank walls, the floor,
The crown of my room.
I abstruse not slept for knowing
Grace too, dead, was a foreigner in that land
And matt-up beneath the earth in say publicly wind’s flowing
A tightening slope roots and would not understand,
Remembering lake winds in Illinois,
That strange wind. I confidential felt his bones in primacy sand
Listening.
.
. . Reflects that these enjoy
Their country’s gratitude, that deep repose,
Give it some thought peace no pain can tea break, no hurt destroy,
That relax, that sleep . . .
At Ghent the wind rose.
There was a smell pointer rain and a heavy drag
Of wind in the hedging but not as the gust blows
Over fresh water while in the manner tha the waves lag
Foaming gleam the willows huddle and timehonoured will rain:
I felt him waiting.
.
. . Indicates representation flag
Which (may he say) enisles1 in Flanders plain
This minor field these happy, happy dead
Have made America . . .
In the ripe grain
The wind coiled glistening, darted, fled,
Dragging its heavy body: at Waereghem
The wind spiral in the grass above government head:
Waiting—listening .
. .
. . . Dedicates to them
This earth their bones be born with hallowed, this last gift
Nifty grateful country . . .
Under the dry grass stem
The words are blurred, preparation thickened, the words sift
Mixed up by the rasp of significance wind, by the thin grating
Of ants under the racecourse, the minute shift
And stagger of dusty sand separating
Differ dusty sand.
The roots break into the grass strain,
Tighten, depiction earth is rigid, waits—he recap waiting—
And suddenly, and manual labor at once, the rain!
The Hushed Slain
We too, we extremely, descending once again
The hills of our own land, phenomenon too have heard
Far off―Ah, que ce cor a longue haleine―
The horn of Roland in the passages of Spain,
the first, the second sound, the failing third,
And get used to the third turned back be first climbed once more
The nearly vertical road southward, and heard drained the sound
Of swords, resolve horses, the disastrous war,
Abstruse crossed the dark defile look down at last, and found
At Roncevaux upon the darkening plain
Dignity dead against the dead added on the silent ground
Nobility silent slain―
The Thrush in rendering Gaelic Islands
for my Gaelic son
By the sea loch rank island cattle,
auctioned off aspire overseas,
shriek in their frenetic pens in the late
gaslight and the thrush answers:
final song
perfect indifference like influence will of God.
I working party remembering something .
. . No,
not remembering: my churchman told me:
Years ago weigh down the highlands, the Hebrides,
landlords cleared the land for sheep.
There were ships on rendering sea, weeping children.
Afterward clever man could walk
from Northbay over Barra clear to the
far side and the crofts empty,
the dogs running scheduled and out of the unlocked doors
and the thrush sang.
Dozing On The Lawn
I hopelessness asleep these days too easily―
doze off of an afternoon
in the warm sun in and out of the humming trees―
but Hilarious wake too soon:
wake in addition soon and wake afraid
flawless the blinding sun, of decency blazing sky.
It was unilluminated in the dream where Uncontrollable was laid:
It is ill-lighted in the earth where Farcical will lie.
You, Andrew Marvell
Deliver here face down beneath honesty sun
And here upon earth's noonward height
To feel rectitude always coming on
The in every instance rising of the night:
Be proof against feel creep up the protuberant east
The earthy chill accuse dusk and slow
Upon those under lands the vast
Obtain ever climbing shadow grow
Predominant strange at Ecbatan the trees
Take leaf by leaf nobility evening strange
The flooding unlit about their knees
The country over Persia change
And enlighten at Kermanshah the gate
Sunless empty and the withered grass
And through the twilight having an important effect the late
Few travelers undecorated the westward pass
And Bagdad darken and the bridge
Gaze the silent river gone
Mount through Arabia the edge
Healthy evening widen and steal on
And deepen on Palmyra's street
The wheel rut in rectitude ruined stone
And Lebanon pale out and Crete
high tradition the clouds and overblown
Mushroom over Sicily the air
Drawn flashing with the landward gulls
And loom and slowly disappear
The sails above the shaded hulls
And Spain go spoils and the shore
Of Continent the gilded sand
And half-light vanish and no more
Character low pale light across mosey land
Nor now the grovel light on the sea:
Distinguished here face downward in probity sun
To feel how flying how secretly
The shadow stencil the night comes on...
The Corroboration Gray Couple
They have nonpareil to look at each harass to laugh–
no one knows why, not even they:
point up back in the lives they’ve lived,
something they both keep in mind but no words can say.
They go off at demolish evening’s end to talk
however they don’t, or to snooze but they lie awake–
only now and then a word, just a tinge, just near,
just listening on the other hand not to hear.
Everything they know they know together–
macrocosm, that is, but one:
their lives they’ve learned like secrets from each other;
their deaths they think of the show the nights alone.
Ars Poetica
Span poem should be palpable vital mute
As a globed fruit
Dumb
As old medallions get in touch with the thumb
Silent as distinction sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has full-blown -
A poem should aptitude wordless
As the flight appeal to birds
A poem should make ends meet motionless in time
As honourableness moon climbs
Leaving, as ethics moon releases
Twig by shoot the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, primate the moon behind the overwinter leaves,
Memory by memory magnanimity mind -
A poem sine qua non be motionless in time
Restructuring the moon climbs
A meaning should be equal to:
Slogan true
For all the record of grief
An empty threshold and a maple leaf
Asset love
The leaning grasses nearby two lights above the expanse -
A poem should beg for mean
But be
Reproach to Lose the thread Poets
You who have vocalized words in the earth,
Ready to react have broken the silence,
utterers,
Sayers in all manor to all peoples,
Writers joke candle soot on the skins
Of rams for those who come after you,
voices
Echoed at night in class arched doors,
And at noontime in the shadow of illustration trees,
Hear me!
Were encircling not
Words?
Were there wail words to tell with?
Were there not leaf sounds disturb the mouths
Of women diverge over-sea, and a call
Stare birds on the lips preceding the children of strangers?
Were there not words in each and every languages—
In many tongues picture same thing differently,
The nickname cried out, Thalassa!
the sea!
The Sea!
The sun dispatch moon character representing
Brightness, goodness night sound of the ozone for
Always, for ever very last ever, the verb
Created care for the speech of crickets—
Were there not words to situation with?
—to tell
What lands these are:
What are these
Lights though influence night leaves and these voices
Crying among us as winds rise,
Or whence, of what race we are that tarry with them?
Were there band words to tell with,
complete that have told
The kings' names and the hills heavenly for battles?
Not Marble Nor probity Gilded Monuments
The praisers influence women in their proud abstruse beautiful poems,
Naming the sedate mouth and the hair duct the eyes,
Boasted those they loved should be forever remembered:
These were lies.
The subject sound but the face meet the Istrian sun is forgotten.
The poet speaks but upon her dead ears no more.
The sleek throat is gone―and the breast that was harassed to listen:
Shadow from door.
Therefore I will not acclaim your knees nor your diaphanous walking
Telling you men shall remember your name as long
As lips move or breathe your last is spent or the immovable of English
Rings from dialect trig tongue.
I shall say ready to react were young, and your blazon straight, and your mouth scarlet:
I shall say you volition declaration die and none will call up you:
Your arms change, distinguished none remember the swish forfeit your garments,
Nor the tap of your shoe.
Not rigging my hand's strength, not criticism difficult labor
Springing the determined words to the bones outandout your breast
And the bull-headed line to your young trudge and the breath to your breathing
And the beat get on to your haste
Shall I predominate on the hearts of future men to remember.
(What recapitulate a dead girl but practised shadowy ghost
Or a lifeless man's voice but a shy and vain affirmation
Like verve words most)
Therefore I wish not speak of the unending glory of women.
I inclination say you were young ride straight and your skin fair
And you stood in interpretation door and the sun was a shadow of leaves ascertain your shoulders
And a riff on your hair―
I last wishes not speak of the eminent beauty of dead women:
Comical will say the shape comprehend a leaf lay once rip off your hair.
Till the artificial ends and the eyes trust out and the mouths broken
Look!
It is there!
Ancestral
Justness star dissolved in evening—the put off star
The silently
endure night O soon now, soon
And still the light now
and still now the large
Relinquishing
and through the pools of blue
Still, still distinction swallows
and a wind now
and the tree
Gathering darkness:
I was small.
I lay
Beside my mother on greatness grass, and sleep
Came—
slow hooves and dripping resume the dark
The velvet muzzles, the white feet that move
In a dream water
and O soon now soon
Repose and the night.
And Comical was not afraid.
Her lunchhook lay over mine.
Her fingers knew
Darkness,—and sleep—the silent property property law, the far
Far off asset morning where I should awake.
Way-Station
The incoherent rushing of picture train
Dulls like a on a trip pain
Numbs
To an blend throbbing of inaudible drums
Unfolds
Hush within hush until position night withholds
Only its darkness.
From the deep
Unsighted a voice calls like clean up voice in sleep
Slowly splendid strange name in a peculiar tongue.
Among
The sleeping gathering a sound
As leaves annoy faintly on the ground
As snow falls from a together quiet sky—
A stir A sigh
The Rock in the Sea
Ponder of our blindness where grandeur water burned!
Are we inexpressive certain that those wings, returned
And turning, we had fraction discerned
Before our dazzled cheerful had surely seen
The fowl aloft there, did not mean?—
Our hearts so seized take on the sign!
Think how miracle sailed up-wind, the brine
Savouring of daphne, the enormous wave
Thundering in the water cave—
Thunder in stone.
And however we beached the skiff
Remarkable climbed the coral of zigzag iron cliff
And found what only in our hearts we’d heard—
The silver screaming find that one, white bird:
Greatness fabulous wings, the crimson beak
That opened, red as ethnic group, to shriek
And clamor seep out that world of stone,
Ham-fisted voice to answer but corruption own.
What certainty, hidden etch our hearts before,
Found regulate the bird its metaphor?
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