{"nodes":[{"node":{"title":"Greacen001","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen001","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Trains stop at the wrong places","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen001","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen001_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffTrails Stop at the Wrong Places\n\nThrowing the newspaper aside with a limp gesture,\n\"Ah yea\u201d, one thinks, looking out of the train\nAt a grassy knoll just past a timbered village\nSuddenly frozen and trance-like,\nParadigm of what we have dreamed of\n(Cidered enchantment all scented summer through)\n\"Ah yes, 1 could live, work, happily die there,\n0 for winged heels so 1 could fly there!\nFeel off each swaddling city layer\nOf present, too present end known identity,\nAnd build from scratch  a new man deed frow deed,\nSo scrapping this soiled familiar self\nWith its thousand hesitations and little deaths.\nBut already the train has moved\n(For, oddly, time has not stopped for even a second.)\nAnd that green knoll near a village\nHas blurred and been placed on the rack of memory.\nPick up the newspaper, read mindlessly:\n\"CHILD OF THERES FOUND DEAD IN WOOD\",\nFlick over the page and stifle an oath.\nTrains stop at the wrong places.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1301"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen002","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen002","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Well, just a quick one","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen002","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen002_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeff\"Well, Just a Quick One\"\n\nThe golden liquid in the glass\nIs drained in joyous little sips;\nThe minute hands lope on.\nThus Time, the enemy, must pass.\n\nIgnoring all attempts and all defences\nTo stay each sixty seconds' worth\nOf Kiplingesque. 0 what's the use\nOf all our vain pretences\n\nOf medium, slow or quick ones?\nOld Father Time will have no stop.\nHowever much we try to hold him\nHe simply ups and runs!\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1302"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen003","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen003","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Woodpulp Virgin","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen003","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen003_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffWoodpulp Virgin\n\nThe white end empty page,\nsweet woodpulp virgin,\nHow in your oblong cage\nShall we trap vision?\n\nWe\u2019ve got our notebooks full\nOf wild and surging notions,\nHow can we learn to school\nEach wayward fancy?\n\nBy scrupulous remembering\nAnd concentrated thought? Perhaps\nThe bird, upon the wing\nIs really killable.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1303"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen004","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen004","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"The Artist","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen004","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen004_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffThe Artist\n\nThe artist must refine and pare\nTo lay his inner meaning bare;\nBut then his ruthless hand must stay\nLest he chisel the heart away.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1304"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen005","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen005","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"A Moment","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen005","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen005_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffA Moment\n\nWine-ruddied, map-like face,\nEye brightly alcoholic\nGlaring at a wood fire.\nShrill laughter splinters time.\nA moments loops from prose,\nAnd spirals off to space.\nYes, this gold coin we hoard\nAgainst the halfpennies of age.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1305"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen006","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen006","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Each longs for ideal self","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen006","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen006_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffEach Longs for Ideal Self\n\nEach longs for ideal self,\nThe self that's out of reach,\nGenius like Leonardo's\nOr vibrant moral forces,\nThe trivial and profound\nIn this are both agreed ~\nEach probes the festered wound\nthen scuttles underground.\nO what can ease the itch\nThat filches nightly sleep,\nSlanting our eyes with dread?\nNo matter what they say,\nAccept we must; accept again,\nAnd so declare to far and near;\nThere is no other way\nIf you would find the day.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1306"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen007","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen007","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"How the heralds trumpet","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen007","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen007_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffNow the Heralde Trumpet (Spring 1952)\n\nNow the heralde trumpet the glad triumphant news\nWith gay abandon; the putty city faces brighten.\nSignal the message then - \"Now it is spring!\" -\nAnd write it everywhere. Sing it and dance it endlessly.\n\nSpring, alas, of soldiers on the move; the quick stroke\nOf steel tearing through village and over new-turned earth,\nCrushing the slow peasant faces, breaking the ploughs\nIn this spring of liberation - meaning for the lucky\nA quick scorching death by petrol bomb!We dare not think\nof the unlucky.\n\n0 bitter spring of man's long agony and fear.\n\nBut for a moment escapist, consider in street or public garden\nThe pink blossom icing of cherry tree gently smudging\nThe lengthened, day with colour; acres of sky at evening,\nSerene, moving in silence to night\u2019s still mystery;\nThe lonely youth breaking his heart in secret love;\nThe poet writing out his urgent but unheeded words.\n\nYet, winter past, our boundless need remains,\nAnd we ask again for courage in a new season,\nThat from our failing strength and near-despair\nMay flow new hope, new certainty, new faith\nAnd - whisper the seditious word! new peace.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1307"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen008","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen008","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"One day last August","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen008","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen008_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffOne Day Last August\n\nOne day last August, travelling by bus to Annslong,\nPast fields brown-pimpled with haycocks,\nAnd whitewashed rectangular houses,\nI tried - expatriate now - to overhear\nThe homely rhythms that these people use\nAs running murmur to a simple way of life\nThrough their world's wilderness of tangled hate\nI tried to see the obverse of the coins\nThat tinkle brash in every little till\nAnd echo that intolerance I knew too well.\nThen came the answer on that August day:\nIf you would find the virtue of this place\nThen search it out in tidy village streets\nAnd in the narrow, stone-walled fields,\nFor there these people build in quietness,\nFar from the politicians vulgar rant\nThat tears the fabric of this land.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1308"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen009","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen009","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"James Joyce","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen009","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen009_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffJames Joyce\n\nLet us recall that bitter, dogged Dubliner, Jamese Joyce,\nWhose yeasty chaos travelled Europe in his aching brain.\nTrieste, Zurich, Paris, Rome and other cities\nKnew the young exile buoyed on anger and contempt\nFor all that was provincial, meanly self-sufficing.\nA furnace blazed in his mind\u2019s core perpetually\nAnd would not give him rest from constant labour\nUntil the multi\u2014imaged soul cascaded many thousand words\nBarbed and pristine with a febrile, love-hate energy.\nSilence, exile,cunning - those sharp keys he cut\nTo unlock the obdurate gates to Europe,\nThese keys made in his Dublin prison in friend-wasted days,\nWhen Ibsen, Jonson, Hauptmann floodlit each chamber of his mind\nAnd he determined not to honour those fierce claims\nOf country, family and church: I will not serve.\nThen think of him, half-blind and penniless in European towns\nRocked by the restive daemon of creativeness,\nShowing a will inflexible against the little streets\nWith hatred in their piping, rabble voices,\nHe ceaselessly dredging an oceanic mind for images\nTo haunt our splintered century and show us to ourselves,\nCrying aloud with all the anguish of our time.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1309"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen010","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen010","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"A wind in midsummer","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen010","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen010_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffA Wind in Midsummer\n\nEven in the midst of summer\nA small, harsh voice many cry\nWhile in the dusty August gutter\nTokens of a later season lie.\n\nNow in this summer\u2014suited weather\nLook what flotsam can be found -\nBrown and red leaves scattered dryly,\nObscenely wrinkled on the ground.\n\nThen through the evening stillness\nPasses a wind both sharp and neat;\nA shiver of death brushes the silence,\nAnd scatters leaves under our feet.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1310"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen011","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen011","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Christmas tree","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen011","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen011_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffChristmas Tree\n\nNow when December days drag out to the year\u2019s end\nThrough a tunnel with hardly a blink of light\nOne day unexpectedly leaps into flames.\nWe see the radiance for a moment through child eyes,\nAnd know that all could be different because He came\nTo Bethlehem those weary centuries ago.\nThe Christmas tree shivers in a trance of light\nFor a moment we recapture a lost delight\nAnd think that if things are not for the best\nPerhaps they are not all for the worst;\nThat the game is worth these lighted candles,\nThat if our feet still refuse to dance\nAcross the pavements of a sodden world\nWith luck - and grace - we may get another chance.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1311"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen012","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen012","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"A memory of Bantry Bay","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen012","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen012_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffA Memory of Bantry Bay\n\nEveninig stands still as if at the stiff command\nOf ancient gods that straddle the ink-blue hills;\nThe sea lies smooth, her lace-white band of foam\nForgotten, storm-past, peace-breathing\nFrom fall of sandy cliff to curved horizon.\nSummer walks the hedgerows like a gipsy queen\nFlaunting and flinging far her red ear-rings of fuchsia.\nOn such an evening life is time-free, no longer perilous,\nAnd our coming sleep a sweet rehearsal for death.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1312"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen013","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen013","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Fling back the curtains","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen013","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen013_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffFling Back the Curtains\n\nFling back the curtains,\nLet the sweet light flood\nInto the winter room.\nBlaze, blaze at noon.\nWhite sun-god dazzle us,\nBurn through our hollowness\nNew purpose bringing.\nDizzy us with affirmation;\nPraise birth and seed-time.\nSee in the sun's domination\nLove's radiance over all!\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1313"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen014","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen014","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Death in Portugal","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen014","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen014_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffDeath in Portugal\n\n(In memory of Mary Lee Houston, deceased January 7, 1961)\n\nBlonde hair boy-cropped, green stockings, dirty mac,\nSlight hand a-tremble, lighting cigarette on cigarette,\nNerves near the surface, heart always on the rack;\nOften depressed, but sometimes zany-like in drink,\nNow could one overhear the mumbling reaper say:\n\"You\u2019ll find your way from shyness, coldness , fear,\nFar from Port Hope, Ontario, - and London too.\nYour fate is death in Portugal, my dear.\"\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1314"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen015","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen015","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"A London September","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen015","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen015_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffA London Septembet\n\nSlabs of grey light fa11 earthward\nOn paths brown-carpeted and crisp,\nThat crackle underfoot at every step.\nAutumn rides back a gold-red, sober queen.\nFall that we know so well, yet so endlessly new!\nWe talk and walk under a temperate sun,\nWishing for short silence; absence of fear,\nIf only for a time; a cooling of the hot blood\nOf violence, wanting authority only to leave us in peace\nTo stroll and chat under the leaf-thinned trees,\nHappy are children playing outside time's shutters -\nAnd mindless, too, of our blood-red hands.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1315"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen016","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen016","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"At night in London","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen016","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen016_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffAt Night in London\n----_\u00bb--------------\n\nLight, light, too much of it, too harsh, too bare\nFor lovers walking in the brisk electric air.\nUnknowable the dark, unsmiling Thames.\nHalf cynically he pauses, questioning,\nBut lightly she answers \"Love is everything\".\nDarker than wine your waters. Father Thames.\nSill the others answer, too, or turn to the wall\nWhen they hear her whisper, \"Love is all\"?\nFlow on dark, cool and uncommitted Thames.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1316"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen017","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen017","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Wild bells ringing","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen017","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen017_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffWild Belle Ringing\n\nThe fields sleep on in gold and green\nWhile sunlight hurls deep shadow pools\nAcross the mildly dosing land.\nUnder these trees the bronzed lovers,\nTimeless and aimless, pause from loving,\nBrowse and listen to the intent hum\nOf steady, worker bees. 0 honeyed love,\nOutside this oasis the tall world struts.\nWell, let it strut and rant and reel!\nOthers quickly run, but we must gather wool.\nHere's earth - and light more than enough,\nLove arching over all, sea-wide, sky-high,\nTimeless and aimless ones, chained into freedom,\nFar, far from death, and lost in space,\nFor you alone the wild bells ring!\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1317"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen018","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen018","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"The upstairs room","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen018","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen018_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffThe Updstairs Room\n\n(For Roy McFadden)\n\nTwo poets sit together in a club\n(An upstairs room mid-century style)\nOne drinking whisky, the other beer.\nFormer images pass in file.\n\nDo you remember? could it have been?\nIt was indeed. The smiling liquid seems to wink.\nEach poet sips another golden tear,\nKnowing it's later than he used to think.\n\nWere those the days? Well, yes and no,\nFor days of youth though timesless days\nAre days time-bound by heart\u2019s unease\nAnd recklessness. And yet the poets praise\n\nAnd lift the glass to certain yesterdays,\nThose sunset evenings spent together\nIn hope and argument and chaff\nThat could defy their elders' chilly weather.\n\nTwo poets sit together in a club ...\nYou ask what point or moral\u2019s in this story?\nJust this, my dear impatient stranger:\nFriendship still edges life with glory.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1318"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen019","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen019","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Faces","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen019","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen019_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffFaces\n\nFaces: sun-shielded, indoor faces sprout everywhere,\nCinemas, bus queues, lifts in department stores;\nFaces sprayed with the pallor of the city-bound,\nWaxen as dolls in tenement attics;\nFaces on whom the spilled rouge of apples\nReminds one of the unending Aprils of childhood,\nWhen lilac was as mysterious as perfume of Arabia;\n0 the unforgettable fragments of unburied childhood!\nFaces at windows, dismayed behind lace curtains,\nFaces of the unadventurous and meek;\nFaces of the arrogant, walking where angels wince;\nFaces of country cousins, town truants, anxious aunts:\nThe face of a typist, Helen, in glum suburban beauty,\nOnce seen in a cobwebbed moment, always remebered:\nFaces of the dead, the mask serene, contorted:\nThe living face of poetry, the all-enduring image.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1319"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen020","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen020","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"The blind month","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen020","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen020_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffThe Blind MOnth\n\nNovember fills bridges, streets and even country lanes\nWith yellow vapours, blows on the tired heart\nA chill reminder of the year\u2019s decay,\nshunts fog into the throat, fog into the mind,\nBlankets desire, outlaws blood's summer riot.\nNow the October rust-red and charred-brown days recede\nInto the calendar, traceless though kind-scented,\nAll fullness frosted, all richness raided.\nNovember, month of the dead, month of shadows,\nMonth of the year's betrayal, our invocation\nIs a hoarse mouthing to the misty gods\nFor a single sign, for one grey dove on attic roof,\nFor affirmation of light in this blind month.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1320"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen021","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen021","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"The hollow voices","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen021","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen021_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffThe Hollow Voices\n\nDoom says the lead\u2014ribbed sky,\nDoom cries the angry bird.\nDoom says the crooked house,\nDoom cries the empty word,\n\nAs my true love and I were walking,\nWere walking one fine winter\u2019s morning\nWe heard the voices, hollow-mocking voices\nBut we wouldn't listen wouldn't,\nWouldn\u2019t listen...\n\nDoom says the valley thunder,\nDoom cries the biting sleet,\nDoom says the twisted spire,\nDoom cries the vacant heart.\n\nBut my true love and I were kissing\nUpon that fine frosted morning.\nWe heard the hollow, hollow voices,\nBut we wouldn't listen, woudn\u2019t, wouldn't\nlisten.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1321"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen022","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen022","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"By the winter sea","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen022","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen022_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffBy the winter Sea\n\nWhat can we say to-day that is not negative?\nDo not and again do not. Thus failure to act\nSeems more commendable than a positive stance,\nHere at the foam\u2014edge of the pounding sea,\nGrey, neutral, dirty-specked, with March wind scourging it.\n\nAnd across the faded acreage of years the drums\nOf childhood beat themselves to death. 0 do not act\nLike frenzied drum-beaters, incensed by doom.\n\nEncased in winter despair may one still hope\nFor another spring, for a tunnel away from gloom\nFar below the crust of the earth, then out to a valley\nGreen in a haze of summer noon, gold fires ablaze?\nOr, not advancing, retreating sometimes, faith\u2019s crumb holding,\nMaking an effort to be honest about motives,\n(The Hamlet self, the double man ringed round by question marks)\nCan affirmation come, keeping at arm\u2019s length meantime\nThe lonely sobbing of this winter sea,\nAnd smothering that maddened drum-beat of a childhood\nLost long aeons ago on a Northern shore?\n\nDo not and again do not - wait, it will come!\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1322"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen023","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen023","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Song","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen023","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen023_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffSong\n\nOnly the elementals stay\nAll else must fell away\nTime washes over night and day.\n\nOnly the errant memory of a face\nIn the mind can hold a place\nWhile time keeps up his steady pace.\n\nOnly the sea and land\nNever dissolve. Time will not stay\nBut runs ahead to meet decay.\n\nTime washes everything away.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1323"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen024","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen024","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Face in the mirror","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen024","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen024_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffFace in the Mirror\n\nFace in the mirror, don't tell me your name,\nDon't even tell me the way you came\n(Without my permission) or if you\u2019ve been true\nTo the dreams of youth. To one or two?\nCan I look at this face without a twinge of shame?\n\nFace in the mirror, remember your pledge?\nRomantic temper allied to a classic edge;\nTo chisel out the crystal line,\nAnd make it strong, not to refine;\nTo clip but not to maim the living hedge.\n\nFace in the mirror, a Journey still to go,\nTowards the final winter snow,\nI shall go with you where you will,\nIf only courage pay the mounting bill.\nFace in the mirror answer yes or no\n\nTo the pull of your history. Atone,\nThen go your chosen way alone.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1324"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen025","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen025","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Flying home at Christmas","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen025","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen025_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffFlying Home at Christmas\n\nFlying home at Christmas ... 0 cloudy memory\nUnroll your private film, yield up your fleeting echoes,\nThose quick snatches of childhood joy and misery ...\nNow see suburbia slip by, Tudor-and-russet-brick,\nWhile after mediocre mile; past modern pub and group of shops\nOut to the mild and smokeless air ringing the Airport.\nThen watch the sun of saddle afternoon quicksilver the wing-tip.\n(A dirty scrap of newspaper eddies: yesterday\u2019s muddled headline lie.)\nAnd now we rise, soon viewing below a child\u2019s toy set -\nRow on row of irregular, red-roof-tiled villas,\nEach desirable residence with its patch of faded green\nLike a played-over and scratched, billiard-table top.\n\nLook down! look down!\n(The blase traveller merely lights a cigarette)\nAt the smole-wound haze of London town!\nMist drifts like cotton wool, condenses on the pane;\nBut high above the clouds we view  a foamy\u2014coloured sea,\nAnd look! - the horizon\u2019s bloodshot, copper-red.\nThen, feeding on present sights, old memories return,\nEach jigsaw shape and colour to the eager traveller,\nWho troubles like an excited child.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1325"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen026","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen026","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Spring in Hyde Park","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen026","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen026_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffSpring in Hyde Park\n\nTime is an island now, here on the stiff grass\nWhere footsteps falling into night pass and re-pass;\nThis is an island, from the day of dry routine,\nA time when being hardens into Has Been.\n0 every way we look lights ring us round\nPushing the edge of darkness in. Sound mimics sound.\nAcross the evening park float random noises\nOf bus and taxi, soft hints of lovers' voices.\nAnd as night jollies in around this little island\nWe walk like searching children on a tideless sand.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1326"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen027","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen027","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Kensington Gardens","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen027","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen027_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffKensington Gardens\n\nSilent the grave green silky sea,\nStill as the central heart of Sunday calm\nIn the dust-red suburbs where only\nOccasional cars cough out their tired warnings\nAnd children\u2019s badinage swirls high in the air,\nSilence and stillness stretch to 'white infinity\nHere in those new-leal-springing gardens\nWhere London pauses from hectic monotony.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1327"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen028","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen028","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"The parting","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen028","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen028_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffThe Parting\n\nThe clouds are muttering for rain,\nWhile birds in solid squadrons fly from storm;\nThe telegraphic wires sadly affirm\nThe bleakness of a steely spring.\nHe throws down the evening newspaper,\nChanges into ragged slippers, glances\nDown at the street where the rain\nLike stretched elastic falls in lengthy strings;\nAnd he takes his favourite book from, the top shelf,\nAlmost at random, so mechanical it is.\nThis voice speaks softly from a lost summer:\n\n \"0 will you say it again ...\n    Say it all again!\n    Will you say it then\n    Ae you say it now?\n    Will you be true\n    And can I be sure?\n    0 will you say it again ...\"\n\nFootsteps drop like anonymous parcels.\nDeep, deep into the gashed night\nA gramophone wheedles a tired melody\nFrom the next-floor apartment:\nAnd he thinks, more desperate than angry:\n\n \"I can never say it again,\n    Never, never say it again.\n    For the past is past\n    And cancelled out finally.\u2019*\n\nAnd yet that other voice maintains\nIts level melody,\nIts hollow, ruthless, tender, plaintive melody:\n\n \"0 will you say it again ...\n    Say it a11 again!\n    Will you say it then\n    As you say it now?\n    Will you be true?\n    And can I be sure?\n    O will you say it again ...\"\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1328"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen029","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen029","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Death of a musician","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen029","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen029_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffDeath of a Musician\n\nDraw the curtains\nPull the blinds\nAs the house empties\nOut its sounds\n\nIts master has gone\nOn his long travels\nAnd no one\nSings or talks. Revels\n\nAre melted as snow;\nHere a vast stillness\nOf tongue and piano;\nGolden the silence\n\nRich, deep. slow.\nIn the dead man's house\nNo whisper, no echo,\nNor scamper of mouse.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1329"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen030","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen030","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Night now","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen030","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen030_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffNight Now\n\nNight now; all London\u2019 s varnished over with the dark;\nDark now, dark as the buried and unseeing root,\nAnd as the cowering earth-worm dark ...\nThe green leaves shudder in the everning, chilled\nHostages in a giant city, skeletal and bare\nOf love. 0 exiled one in this leprous time\nWalking the damply grey and heedless streets\nWith not an echo in the wide and thoughtless world\nNow render up your strange, innocent, cleansing light!\nNor else can cure nor wake the shuttered eye;\nSo prisoned in the bewitched dark\nSee now all summer glide away in a deep trance;\nGoodbye the loveliness, goodbye the ache\nFor other summers lost long centuries ago.\nThen let us choose another time to dance.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1330"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen031","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen031","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"The sleeping heart","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen031","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen031_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffThe Sleeping Heart\n\nNor sea nor wind can wake\nThe sleeping heart. At anchor then\nIt lies, and need not take\nInto its last deep fold\nThe taut world's angry cries.\nAsleep but not indifferent\nIt guards itself from mad alarms\nAnd rests content.\n\nBut wait what noise is that?\nHark! hark! the dogs do bark\nAnd beggars sack the town.\nNew cries on every side are heard,\nPretenders jostle for the crown!\n\nAnd yet at peace the sleeping heart\nReeks not of strife and sharp debate;\nNor sea nor wind can shake it now,\nNor love's assault can break it now.\nAsleep but not indifferent,\nIt rests content.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1331"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen032","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen032","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"One aim emerges","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen032","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen032_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffOne aim Emerges\n\nOne aim emerges sharp as day\nAs elemental, clean and full:\nTo write one line, hard, beautiful,\nSimple and naked as the sky.\n\nOne aim alone, dominant as light:\nEmotion caged but not destroyed.\nThen issue through the windless void\nA flash that lacerates the night!\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1332"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen033","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen033","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"The nightmare","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen033","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen033_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffThe Nightmare\n(or The Two Shadows)\n\nIn any case life is but a procession of shadows, and God knows\nwhy it is that we embrace them so eagerly, and see them depart\nwith such anguish, being shadows: Virginia Woolf, Jacobs Room.\n\nThe shadows turn away. Who is that man,\nA prisoner of mislaid hopes, who shuffles in distress,\nThrough the moraine of the years? What soul unblessed?\nThe coming was hard, but touching the liquid fire was harder,\nDown, down, down into the shifting nightmare depths,\nFalling through forests green and spongey where a thousand\nmetallic eyes\n\nGlinted from snakeheads like a thousand little fires \u2022\u2022\u2022\nLook up, first shadow, and see the zigzag way you came!\n(He cannot lift his head for shame.) O the way was long,\nThe coming was hard and soft by fits and starts,\nAs he fell and twisted but never resisted\nAnd came in a dazzle and haze of amazement\nBut look! the second shadow is stippled\nWith startling brightness, as though pinpointed, by vivid day\n- His twin lies passionless, mute, mantled in night -\nFor he resisted falling, all the way.\nTrue, he also fell in the end, witness his wounds.\nHe turns his head towards the broken back of the sky,\nAnd seemingly finds peace in this outlaw sphere of loneliness,\nKnows freedom through necessity, finds life in death.\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1333"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen034","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen034","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Preface for a poetry collection","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen034","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen034_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffPreface for a Poetry Collection\n\nThe arrow, shot by practised hand\nThat many times the selfsame route has chosen\nFlies winged to that point exact\nThe hand decreed. Yet further flies\nTowards unknown infinity, a blue-grey blur\nThat in the mind's unmapped.\n\nEach poem is an arrow, too,\nShaped for its definite flight\nYet hiding a most secret destination\nEven its own maker cannot know.\nSpeed then each poem to that knowd point\nMy little cunning can command -\nAnd onwards where you will!\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1334"}},{"node":{"title":"Greacen035","Collections":"Unpublished Poems","Contributor":"Greacen Estate","Coverage":"19 Jan","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Wednesday, March 16, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Greacen035","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"He thought he loved the Vatican","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen035","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen035_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeffWe Thought he Loved the Vatican\n\nSan Juan, Puerto Rico,\nAugust 31.\n\nGraham Greene, the novelist, was detained by the American\nauthorities on arrival frou Haiti. Mr Greene, who was on his\nway to London, will be sent back to Haiti. No reason was given\nfor the action.\n\nManchestor Guardian, September 1, 1954.\n\nWe thought he loved the Vatican\nWith its Cardinals robed in red,\nThat for the sins of whiskey priests\nHis heart had often bled.\n\nWe thought he loved the Mother Church\nAnd doctrine straight from home,\nThat he, like Mr. Evelyn Waugh,\nHad there a home from home.\n\nWe knew that England Made Him,\nThat Brighton Rock had tried to batter\nUs into piety, but felt The Lawless Roads\nCame nearer the Heart of the Matter.\n\nBut oh how wrong we were!\nHow long we've dozed in a mist!\nAnd how clever those Yanks in San Juan\nWho uncovered this Christless crypto-Communist.\n\nFor Graham is really \"Gramovsky\" on the Kremlin files\n(And Green is \"Grenovich\" in a certain nation)\nWhile all the novels are messages in code\nAnd \"whiskey\" in fact means \"deviation\".\n\nAnd we thougt he loved the Vatican...\n(For \"Conclave\" read \"Praesidium\", for \"Bishop\" \"Commissar\")\nSo this knave G. Grenovich, infamous Russki spy,\nLoves not the Vatican but the Soviet Red Star!\n","Type":"Text","Author":"\u200bRobert Greacen","Updated date":"Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 19:17","Nid":"1335"}}]}