The denizens of the Zen and Tao Acoustic Cafe have gathered together in quarantine, much like the denizens of the Italian village Boccacio's Decameron, and they enact their favourite poems.
This is from Niall Carter, which is quite a surprising choice. We all thought he would have chosen Lewis Carroll's "The Jabberwocky"
GOBLIN MARKET
MORNING and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our
orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and
oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries-
Melons and
raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild
free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples,
blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries--
All ripe together
In summer
weather--
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come
buy;
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates
and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and
bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and
gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your
mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,
Come
buy, come buy."
Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to
hear,
Lizzie veiled her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the
cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling
cheeks and finger-tips.
"Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden
head:
We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who
knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come buy,"
call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.
"O! cried Lizzie, Laura,
Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie covered up her
eyes
Covered close lest they should look;
Laura reared her glossy
head,
And whispered like the restless brook:
"Look, Lizzie, look,
Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a
plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine
must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must
blow
Through those fruit bushes."
"No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no;
Their
offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us."
She thrust a
dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to
linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,
One
whisked a tail,
One tramped at a rat's pace,
One crawled like a
snail,
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel
tumbled hurry-scurry.
Lizzie heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing all
together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.
Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a
lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the
launch
When its last restraint is gone.
Backwards up the mossy glen
Turned and trooped the goblin men,
With
their shrill repeated cry,
"Come buy, come buy."
When they reached where
Laura was
They stood stock still upon the moss,
Leering at each
other,
Brother with queer brother;
Signalling each other,
Brother with
sly brother.
One set his basket down,
One reared his plate;
One began
to weave a crown
Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown
(Men sell not
such in any town);
One heaved the golden weight
Of dish and fruit to offer
her:
"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.
Laura stared but did not
stir,
Longed but had no money:
The whisk-tailed merchant bade her
taste
In tones as smooth as honey,
The cat-faced purr'd,
The rat-paced
spoke a word
Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;
One
parrot-voiced and jolly
Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty
Polly";
One whistled like a bird.
But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:
"Good folk, I have no coin;
To
take were to purloin:
I have no copper in my purse,
I have no silver
either,
And all my gold is on the furze
That shakes in windy
weather
Above the rusty heather."
"You have much gold upon your
head,"
They answered altogether:
"Buy from us with a golden curl."
She
clipped a precious golden lock,
She dropped a tear more rare than
pearl,
Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from
the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flowed
that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length
of use?
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that
unknown orchard bore,
She sucked until her lips were sore;
Then flung the
emptied rinds away,
But gathered up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it
night or day
As she turned home alone.
Lizzie met her at the gate
Full of wise upbraidings:
"Dear, you should
not stay so late,
Twilight is not good for maidens;
Should not loiter in
the glen
In the haunts of goblin men.
Do you not remember Jeanie,
How
she met them in the moonlight,
Took their gifts both choice and many,
Ate
their fruits and wore their flowers
Plucked from bowers
Where summer
ripens at all hours?
But ever in the moonlight
She pined and pined
away;
Sought them by night and day,
Found them no more, but dwindled and
grew gray;
Then fell with the first snow,
While to this day no grass will
grow
Where she lies low:
I planted daisies there a year ago
That never
blow.
You should not loiter so."
"Nay hush," said Laura.
"Nay hush, my
sister:
I ate and ate my fill,
Yet my mouth waters still;
To-morrow
night I will
Buy more," and kissed her.
"Have done with sorrow;
I'll
bring you plums to-morrow
Fresh on their mother twigs,
Cherries worth
getting;
You cannot think what figs
My teeth have met in,
What melons,
icy-cold
Piled on a dish of gold
Too huge for me to hold,
What
peaches with a velvet nap,
Pellucid grapes without one seed:
Odorous
indeed must be the mead
Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they
drink,
With lilies at the brink,
And sugar-sweet their sap."
Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each
other's wings,
They lay down, in their curtained bed:
Like two blossoms on
one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fallen snow,
Like two wands of
ivory
Tipped with gold for awful kings.
Moon and stars beamed in at
them,
Wind sang to them lullaby,
Lumbering owls forbore to fly,
Not a
bat flapped to and fro
Round their rest:
Cheek to cheek and breast to
breast
Locked together in one nest.
Early in the morning
When the first cock crowed his warning,
Neat like
bees, as sweet and busy,
Laura rose with Lizzie:
Fetched in honey, milked
the cows,
Aired and set to rights the house,
Kneaded cakes of whitest
wheat,
Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,
Next churned butter, whipped up
cream,
Fed their poultry, sat and sewed;
Talked as modest maidens should
Lizzie with an open heart,
Laura in an absent dream,
One content, one
sick in part;
One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,
One longing
for the night.
At length slow evening came--
They went with pitchers to the reedy
brook;
Lizzie most placid in her look,
Laura most like a leaping
flame.
They drew the gurgling water from its deep
Lizzie plucked purple
and rich golden flags,
Then turning homeward said: "The sunset
flushes
Those furthest loftiest crags;
Come, Laura, not another maiden
lags,
No wilful squirrel wags,
The beasts and birds are fast
asleep."
But Laura loitered still among the rushes
And said the bank was
steep.
And said the hour was early still,
The dew not fallen, the wind not
chill:
Listening ever, but not catching
The customary cry,
"Come buy,
come buy,"
With its iterated jingle
Of sugar-baited words:
Not for all
her watching
Once discerning even one goblin
Racing, whisking, tumbling,
hobbling;
Let alone the herds
That used to tramp along the glen,
In
groups or single,
Of brisk fruit-merchant men.
Till Lizzie urged, "O Laura, come,
I hear the fruit-call, but I dare not
look:
You should not loiter longer at this brook:
Come with me home.
The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,
Each glow-worm winks her
spark,
Let us get home before the night grows dark;
For clouds may gather
even
Though this is summer weather,
Put out the lights and drench us
through;
Then if we lost our way what should we do?"
Laura turned cold as stone
To find her sister heard that cry
alone,
That goblin cry,
"Come buy our fruits, come buy."
Must she then
buy no more such dainty fruit?
Must she no more such succous pasture
find,
Gone deaf and blind?
Her tree of life drooped from the root:
She
said not one word in her heart's sore ache;
But peering thro' the dimness,
naught discerning,
Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way;
So
crept to bed, and lay
Silent 'til Lizzie slept;
Then sat up in a
passionate yearning,
And gnashed her teeth for balked desire, and wept
As
if her heart would break.
Day after day, night after night,
Laura kept watch in vain,
In sullen
silence of exceeding pain.
She never caught again the goblin cry:
"Come
buy, come buy,"
She never spied the goblin men
Hawking their fruits along
the glen:
But when the noon waxed bright
Her hair grew thin and
gray;
She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn
To swift decay, and
burn
Her fire away.
One day remembering her kernel-stone
She set it by a wall that faced the
south;
Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,
Watched for a waxing
shoot,
But there came none;
It never saw the sun,
It never felt the
trickling moisture run:
While with sunk eyes and faded mouth
She dreamed
of melons, as a traveller sees
False waves in desert drouth
With shade of
leaf-crowned trees,
And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.
She no more swept the house,
Tended the fowls or cows,
Fetched honey,
kneaded cakes of wheat,
Brought water from the brook:
But sat down
listless in the chimney-nook
And would not eat.
Tender Lizzie could not bear
To watch her sister's cankerous care,
Yet
not to share.
She night and morning
Caught the goblins' cry:
"Come buy
our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy."
Beside the brook, along the
glen
She heard the tramp of goblin men,
The voice and stir
Poor Laura
could not hear;
Longed to buy fruit to comfort her,
But feared to pay too
dear,
She thought of Jeanie in her grave,
Who should have been a bride;
But
who for joys brides hope to have
Fell sick and died
In her gay
prime,
In earliest winter-time,
With the first glazing rime,
With the
first snow-fall of crisp winter-time.
Till Laura, dwindling,
Seemed knocking at Death's door:
Then Lizzie
weighed no more
Better and worse,
But put a silver penny in her
purse,
Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze
At twilight,
halted by the brook,
And for the first time in her life
Began to listen
and look.
Laughed every goblin
When they spied her peeping:
Came towards her
hobbling,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling,
clapping, crowing,
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping and mowing,
Full of
airs and graces,
Pulling wry faces,
Demure grimaces,
Cat-like and
rat-like,
Ratel and wombat-like,
Snail-paced in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced
and whistler,
Helter-skelter, hurry-skurry,
Chattering like
magpies,
Fluttering like pigeons,
Gliding like fishes, --
Hugged her
and kissed her;
Squeezed and caressed her;
Stretched up their
dishes,
Panniers and plates:
"Look at our apples
Russet and dun,
Bob
at our cherries
Bite at our peaches,
Citrons and dates,
Grapes for the
asking,
Pears red with basking
Out in the sun,
Plums on their twigs;
Pluck them and suck them,
Pomegranates, figs."
"Good folk," said Lizzie,
Mindful of Jeanie,
"Give me much and many";
--
Held out her apron,
Tossed them her penny.
"Nay, take a seat with
us,
Honor and eat with us,"
They answered grinning;
"Our feast is but
beginning.
Night yet is early,
Warm and dew-pearly,
Wakeful and
starry:
Such fruits as these
No man can carry;
Half their bloom would
fly,
Half their dew would dry,
Half their flavor would pass by.
Sit
down and feast with us,
Be welcome guest with us,
Cheer you and rest with
us."
"Thank you," said Lizzie; "but one waits
At home alone for me:
So,
without further parleying,
If you will not sell me any
Of your fruits
though much and many,
Give me back my silver penny
I tossed you for a
fee."
They began to scratch their pates,
No longer wagging,
purring,
But visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling.
One called her
proud,
Cross-grained, uncivil;
Their tones waxed loud,
Their looks
were evil.
Lashing their tails
They trod and hustled her,
Elbowed and
jostled her,
Clawed with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing,
mocking,
Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,
Twitched her hair out by
the roots,
Stamped upon her tender feet,
Held her hands and squeezed their
fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.
White and golden Lizzie stood,
Like a lily in a flood,
Like a rock of
blue-veined stone
Lashed by tides obstreperously, --
Like a beacon left
alone
In a hoary roaring sea,
Sending up a golden fire, --
Like a
fruit-crowned orange-tree
White with blossoms honey-sweet
Sore beset by
wasp and bee, --
Like a royal virgin town
Topped with gilded dome and
spire
Close beleaguered by a fleet
Mad to tear her standard down.
One may lead a horse to water,
Twenty cannot make him drink.
Though the
goblins cuffed and caught her,
Coaxed and fought her,
Bullied and besought
her,
Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,
Kicked and knocked
her,
Mauled and mocked her,
Lizzie uttered not a word;
Would not open
lip from lip
Lest they should cram a mouthful in;
But laughed in heart to
feel the drip
Of juice that syruped all her face,
And lodged in dimples of
her chin,
And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.
At last the evil
people,
Worn out by her resistance,
Flung back her penny, kicked their
fruit
Along whichever road they took,
Not leaving root or stone or
shoot.
Some writhed into the ground,
Some dived into the brook
With
ring and ripple.
Some scudded on the gale without a sound,
Some vanished
in the distance.
In a smart, ache, tingle,
Lizzie went her way;
Knew not was it night or
day;
Sprang up the bank, tore through the furze,
Threaded copse and
dingle,
And heard her penny jingle
Bouncing in her purse, --
Its bounce
was music to her ear.
She ran and ran
As if she feared some goblin
man
Dogged her with gibe or curse
Or something worse:
But not one
goblin skurried after,
Nor was she pricked by fear;
The kind heart made
her windy-paced
That urged her home quite out of breath with haste
And
inward laughter.
She cried "Laura," up the garden,
"Did you miss me ?
Come and kiss
me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeezed
from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me,
love me;
Laura, make much of me:
For your sake I have braved the
glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men."
Laura started from her chair,
Flung her arms up in the air,
Clutched
her hair:
"Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted
For my sake the fruit
forbidden?
Must your light like mine be hidden,
Your young life like mine
be wasted,
Undone in mine undoing,
And ruined in my ruin;
Thirsty,
cankered, goblin-ridden?"
She clung about her sister,
Kissed and kissed
and kissed her:
Tears once again
Refreshed her shrunken eyes,
Dropping
like rain
After long sultry drouth;
Shaking with aguish fear, and
pain,
She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.
Her lips began to scorch,
That juice was wormwood to her tongue,
She
loathed the feast:
Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung,
Rent all
her robe, and wrung
Her hands in lamentable haste,
And beat her
breast.
Her locks streamed like the torch
Borne by a racer at full
speed,
Or like the mane of horses in their flight,
Or like an eagle when
she stems the light
Straight toward the sun,
Or like a caged thing
freed,
Or like a flying flag when armies run.
Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart,
Met the fire
smouldering there
And overbore its lesser flame,
She gorged on bitterness
without a name:
Ah! fool, to choose such part
Of soul-consuming
care!
Sense failed in the mortal strife:
Like the watch-tower of a
town
Which an earthquake shatters down,
Like a lightning-stricken
mast,
Like a wind-uprooted tree
Spun about,
Like a foam-topped
water-spout
Cast down headlong in the sea,
She fell at last;
Pleasure
past and anguish past,
Is it death or is it life ?
Life out of death.
That night long Lizzie watched by her,
Counted her
pulse's flagging stir,
Felt for her breath,
Held water to her lips, and
cooled her face
With tears and fanning leaves:
But when the first birds
chirped about their eaves,
And early reapers plodded to the place
Of
golden sheaves,
And dew-wet grass
Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to
pass,
And new buds with new day
Opened of cup-like lilies on the
stream,
Laura awoke as from a dream,
Laughed in the innocent old
way,
Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice;
Her gleaming locks showed not
one thread of gray,
Her breath was sweet as May,
And light danced in her
eyes.
Days, weeks, months,years
Afterwards, when both were wives
With
children of their own;
Their mother-hearts beset with fears,
Their lives
bound up in tender lives;
Laura would call the little ones
And tell them
of her early prime,
Those pleasant days long gone
Of not-returning
time:
Would talk about the haunted glen,
The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant
men,
Their fruits like honey to the throat,
But poison in the
blood;
(Men sell not such in any town;)
Would tell them how her sister
stood
In deadly peril to do her good,
And win the fiery antidote:
Then
joining hands to little hands
Would bid them cling together,
"For there is
no friend like a sister,
In calm or stormy weather,
To cheer one on the
tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters
down,
To strengthen whilst one stands."
by Christina Rossetti
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