HERMIONE AND HER LITTLE GROUP OF SERIOUS THINKERS - 1916 - CONTENTS - PAGE PROEM- INTRODUCINS OG ME O F HERXIIONEFSR IENDS I SINCERITY IN THE HOME . VIBRATION . SARENT THE RUSSIANS WONDERFUL How SUFFERINPGU RIFIEOSN E . UNDERSTANDI A N N G D ONES OWN HOME - THOUGHT O S F HEREDIT A Y N D THINGS . THE SWAMIB RANDRANAT . H FOTHERG FI I N L C H, T HE POET O F REVOLT . How THE SWAMIH APPENE T D O HAVES EVENW IVES THER OMANTIOCL DD AYS . HERMIONEBSO SWELELX PLAINS . SYMBOL A S N D DEW-HOPPING . Contents PAGE THE W ORLD IS GETTING B ETTER . . 66 . .. Contents vii PAGE PRISORNE FOR A M N D POISE . I39 AN EXAMPL O E F PSYCHIPCO WER … I41 SOMEB EAUTIFUTLH OUGHTS . . I45 HERMIONE HERMIONE PROEM Introducing some of Hermiones Frienils I visited one night, of late, Thoughts Underworld, the Brainstorm Slum, The land of Futile Piffledom A salon weird where congregate Freak, Nut and Bug and Psychic Bum. There, there, they sit and cerebrate The fervid Pote who never potes, Great Artists, Male or She, that Talk But scorn the Pigment and the Chalk, And Cubist sculptors wild as Goats. Theosophists and Swamis, too, Musicians mad as Hatters be- Een puzzled Hatters, two or three Tame Anarchists, a dreary crew, Squib Socialists too damp to sosh, Fake Hobohemians steeped in suds, Glib Females in Artistic Duds With Captive Husbands cowed and gauche. Hermione I saw some Soul Mates side by side Who said their cute young Souls were pink- - I saw a Genius on the Brink Or so he said of suicide. I saw a Playwright who had tried But couldnt make the Public think I saw a Novelist who cried, Reading his own Stuff, in his drink d I met a vapid egg-eyed Gink Who said eight times Art is my Bride A Queen in sandalsslammed the Pans And screamed a Chinese chant at us, The while a Hippopotamus Shook tables, book-shelves and divans With vast Terpsichorean fuss … Some Oriental kind of muss… . A rat-faced Idiot Boy who slimes White paper oer with metric crimes He is a kind of Burbling Blear Who warbles Sex Slush sad to hear And mocks God in his stolen rhymes And wears a ruby in one ear-Murmured to me My Golden Soul Drinks Song from out a Crystal Bowl… . Drinks Love and Song … my Golden Soul I let him live. There were no bricks, Or even now that Golden Soul, Were treading water in the Styx. A Pallid Skirt-anzinic Wisp, As bloodless as a stick of chalk-Got busy with this line of talk The Sinner is Misunderstood How can the Spirit enter in, Be blended with, the Truly Good Unless through Sympathy with Sin Phryne, I murmured, sad and low, I pass the Buck-I do not know Upon a mantel sat a Bust… . Some Hindu god, pug-faced and squat A visage to inspire disgust… . Lord Bilk, the Deity of Rot… . Nay, surely, twas the great god Bunk, For when I wunk at it, it wunk I heard … I heard it proved that night That Fire is Cold, and Black is White, That Junk is Art, and Art is Junk, rhat Virtues wrong, and Vice is right, That Death is Life, and Life is Death, That Breath is Rocks, and Rocks are Breath-C31 –The Cheap and easy paradox The Fool springs, hoping that it shocks., …
