K
Joined: Mar 27, 2002
Posts: 1506
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K
Ode on a Kava Bowl
(with apologies to John Keats and gratitude to Trader Vic)
Thou still unquenched vessel of quietness,
Thou shiney ceramic of silence and slow time,
Beachcombing sage, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our ryhme:
What gardenia leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of sailors or maidens, or of both,
In thatched huts or the golden sands of Polynesia?
What mortals or gods are these? What moralists loath?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What rums and nectars? What wild ecstasy?
Exotic melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft ukelele, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but more endear'd,
Strum to the spirit hulas of no tone:
Languid youth, beneath the coco palms, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
White trader never, never canst thou kiss
Though forever embracing thy goal - yet do not grieve;
Her bosum cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy palms! that cannot shed
Your fronds, nor ever bid the Spring Adieu;
And, happy hula girl, unwearied,
For ever swaying dances for ever new;
More happy love! More happy, happy love!
For ever shapely and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever smiling and forever young;
All breathing human passion far away,
That leaves a heart high-longing and joy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are those sailing to the Trader's hut?
To what bambooed altar, O mysterious priest,
Leades't thou that wahine with brown thighs,
All her raven tresses with flowers dressed?
What little village by waterfall or sea shore,
Or sleeping volcano with peaceful abode,
Is emptied of these girls, this playful morn?
And, little village, thy paths for evermore
will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O blossum shape! Fair arrangement! with brede
of wistful men and maidens overwrought,
with rum kegs and jungle fruit;
Thou, silent form, does't tease us out of thought
as does sobriety; Cold Paradise!
When drunken lust shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth Beauty", that is all
ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
-KailuaGeoff
[ Edited by: Kailuageoff 2005-11-12 07:57 ]
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