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med_cat: (Hourglass)
med_cat: (Hourglass)

ENGLAND (Autumn 1938) by - A S J Tessimond

med_cat: (Hourglass)
Plush bees above a bed of dahlias;
Leisurely, timeless garden teas;
Brown bread and honey; scent of mowing;
The still green light below tall trees.

The ancient custom of deception;
A Press that seldom stoops to lies -
Merely suppresses truth and twists it,
Blandly corrupt and slyly wise.

The Common Man; his mask of laughter;
His back-chat while the roof falls in;
Minorities' long losing battles
Fought that the sons of sons may win.

The politicians' inward snigger
(Big Business on the private phone);
The knack of sitting snug on fences;
The double face of flesh and stone.

Grape-bloom of distant woods at dusk;
Stone-crown on Glaramara's head;
The fire-rose over London night;
An old plough rusting autumn-red.

The "incorruptible policeman"
Gaoling the whore whose bribe's run out,
Guarding the rich against the poor man,
Guarding the Settled Gods from doubt.

The generous smile of music-halls,
Bars and bank-holidays and queues;
The private peace of public foes;
The truce of pipe and football news.

The smile of privilege exulant;
Smile at the "bloody Red" defeated;
Smile at the striker starved and broken;
Smile at the "dirty nigger" cheated.

The old hereditary craftsman;
The incommunicable skill;
The pride in long-loved tools, refusal
To do the set job quick or ill.

The greater artist mocked, misflattered;
The lesser forming clique and team
Or crouching in the narrow corner,
Narcisssus with his secret dream.

England of rebels - Blake and Shelley;
England where freedom's sometimes won,
Where Jew and Negro needn't fear yet
Lynch-law and pogrom, whip and gun.

England of cant and smug discretion;
England of wagecut-sweatshop-knight,
Of sportsman-churchman-slum-exploiter,
Of puritan grown sour with spite.

England of clever fool, mad genius,
Timorous lion and arrogant sheep,
Half-hearted snob and shamefaced bully,
Of hands that wake and eyes that sleep.....
England the snail that's shod with lightning....
Shall we laugh or shall we weep?

Originally posted by [livejournal.com profile] clairehawthorn at ENGLAND (Autumn 1938) by - A S J Tessimond

Comments

Aug. 31st, 2013 02:36 pm (UTC)
What a haunting piece this is! On the eve of WWII, the poet thinks to mention so many imminent themes -- antisemitism, black vs. White, Reds (Spanish Civil War just ending), Brit complacency/smugness, media issues, "the whore whose bribe's run out"...

I'd like to know more about Tessimond -- will Google!

Thanks, my new friend!

Hugz, Justine
Aug. 31st, 2013 02:47 pm (UTC)
Tessimond led an unremarkable life, seemingly. Wikipedia reports, however: "...After avoiding military service in World War II, he later discovered he was unfit for service. He suffered from bipolar disorder, and received electro-convulsive therapy."

His poetry was published, beginning in 1936, but wasnkt all that popular in his lifetime. He died in 1962, and evidently became better known subsequently.

Thanks again!
med_cat: (cat and books)
Sep. 1st, 2013 06:29 pm (UTC)
It is a very evocative piece, is it not? And thanks for the additional info re: poet; I shall have to see if I can find some of his other works.
Jun. 25th, 2018 01:59 am (UTC)

The ancient custom of deception

...is truly alive in our media culture of today, A press that merely suppresses truth and twists it as Tessimond says, has a lot to answer for.
med_cat: (Default)
Jun. 29th, 2018 11:29 am (UTC)

Re: The ancient custom of deception

Quite as you say; things haven't changed much...