Keith Douglas "Poor Mary" WW2 Poem

In death even the undertakers greatest artistic aspirations cannot bring back the beauty that only comes from the living soul to the inanimate corpse....This poem written during his brief time at Merton college Oxford under the great tutor/poet Edmund Blunden has war poet to be Keith Douglas touching upon that mournful hopelessness we all must feel on the passing of somebody near to us....for when deaths door is shut....it tis truly shut....

Regards

Jim Clark

All rights are reserved on this video sound recording copyright Jim Clark 2003..

Poor Mary

Death has made up your face. His qiute hand Perfects your costume to impersonate the one who cannot enter this living land

And it is death who makes sure,and chances no tendernessin the recesses of your eyes In the halls of your heart no spirit dances,

For to the travellers who cry, Death come out and say why you are living here he will not answer. They have lost their breath.

Only an effigy bobbing at the pane calls out with startling speeech and falls down and there is silence in the house again.