A touch of cold in the Autumn night—
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.

~ by T.E. Hulme


J Cosmo Newbery said...

Enchanting imagery.

red dirt girl said...

I think Hulme would have been pleased with your comment, Cosmo. He was a leader of a group of poets and philosophers known as 'imagists:'

Image was defined as the instantaneous receipt of information through the senses, before any of this information might be intellectualized by language and active consideration. Image, Hulme argued, was the untouched material of experience. Intellectualizing raw images of experience was, according to Hulme, inevitably limited because it over-simplified the convolution and profundity of occurrence.

He also explored the then 'new form' of poetry called 'free verse.'

He was more of a philosopher and journalist than a poet. But I love his poems.


goatman said...

The white forehead on the farmer is because of the gimme caps they all wear. I keep telling them that their hair is gonna fall out because it can't breathe, but they don't listen.
I think Mr Hulme perchance has met the mushroom?
It's a great way to use the senses: be aware of all they receive but do not try to explain, react, or put into words.
There is probably a word for that. . .

red dirt girl said...

Hard to know what Hulme partook of ... he was greatly influenced by his study of various philosophers. He was known for the intellectual 'salons' that he presided over.

He was killed serving in WWI.