Herbert Read
1
Time ends when vision sees its lapse in
liberty. The seven
sleepers quit their den and wild
lament-
ations fill out voiceless bodies. Echoes only are.
You will never understand the mind’s
misanthropy, nor see
that all is foul and fit to
screech in.
It is an eye’s anarchy: men are ghoulish stumps
and the air a river of opaque
filth. God! I cannot see
to design these stark reaches, these
bulging
contours pressed against me in the maddening dark.
A blindman’s buff and no distilling
of song for the woeful
scenes of agony. Never
will rest
the mind an instant in its birdlike flutterings.
Could I impress my voice on the plastic darkness, or lift an
inviolate lanthorn from
a ship
in the storm I might have ease. But why? No
fellows
would answer my hullallo, and my
lanthorn would lurch on the
mast till it dipped under the
wet waves
and the hissing darkness healed the wide wound of light.
A cynic race—to bleak ecstasies
we are driven by our
sombre destiny. Men’s shouts
are not
glad enough to echo in our groin’d hearts. We know
war and its dead, and famine’s bleach’d bones;
black rot overreaching
the silent pressure of life
in fronds
of green ferns and in the fragile shell of white flesh.
2
New children must be born of gods in
a deathless land, where the
uneroded rocks bound clear
from cool
glassy tarns, and no flaw is in mind or flesh.
Sense and image they must refashion—
they will not recreate
love: love ends in hate; they will
not use
words: words lie. The structure of events alone is
comprehensible and to single
perceptions communication is not essential.
Art ends;
the individual world alone is valid
and that gives ease. The water is still;
the rocks are hard and vein’d,
metalliferous, yielding
an ore
of high worth. In the sky the unsullied sun lake.
© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem is a complex meditation on the nature of perception, human existence, and the bleakness that often accompanies both. It is a journey through a mental landscape that oscillates between frustration, despair, and a search for meaning, all underpinned by a profound sense of disillusionment with the world.
In the first section, the poem begins with a powerful depiction of a fractured reality. The imagery of the “seven sleepers” evokes a sense of long-standing inactivity or stasis, while the lamentations filling the air suggest that this world is no longer one of action or hope but of resignation and mourning. There is a palpable sense of isolation, both from other people and from the natural world: “You will never understand the mind’s misanthropy,” the speaker declares, hinting at the speaker’s personal alienation and despair. The “eye’s anarchy” is particularly striking, a metaphor for how the speaker perceives the world as chaotic and overwhelming, with humanity reduced to “ghoulish stumps,” disconnected from each other in an environment of filth and disorder.
The lack of clarity—both physical and mental—is central to this section. The speaker expresses frustration with the inability to see or understand the landscape, to grasp at anything solid or comforting. The blindman’s buff, a game where one is disoriented and unable to see, becomes a symbol for the speaker’s own disorientation, both in his mind and in the world around him. Even if he had a “lanthorn” to guide him, it would be useless in this “maddening dark”—a metaphor for the hopelessness of trying to find meaning or connection in a world that is inherently dark, hostile, and indifferent.
The reference to war and famine in the second half of the first section strengthens this view of life as a bleak, unrelenting cycle. The imagery of “black rot” and “bleach’d bones” suggests a world consumed by decay, where life itself is a fragile, fleeting thing, unable to withstand the pressures of a cruel existence. The speaker’s yearning for escape or for a reprieve from this suffering is clear but also tinged with the realization that such escape is impossible—there is no light, no hope on the horizon.
In the second part, the tone shifts towards a vision of a possible new beginning, though it is one that seems to be just as detached and bleak as the world the speaker currently inhabits. The idea of “new children born of gods in a deathless land” presents an image of a purer existence, untouched by the flaws and suffering of the current world. These new beings would not be bound by the limitations of human emotion or language—love and words are seen as fallible, ending in hate and lying. Instead, the “structure of events” becomes the sole truth, something that can be understood without the messiness of human connection or expression.
The world described here is one of stark clarity, a place where the natural elements—rocks, water, and sun—are immutable, offering comfort through their “high worth.” However, this world is sterile, lacking the messiness of emotion and human interaction that would make it truly livable. It is a world without love, without communication, and ultimately without human warmth or connection. The “still water” and “unsullied sun lake” evoke a sense of peace, but it is a peace born from the absence of life and growth.
Ultimately, the poem is a meditation on the contradictions inherent in existence. The speaker grapples with the tension between the desire for understanding, connection, and hope, and the harsh reality of a world that offers little of those things. The bleakness of the first section gives way to a vision of a world without the flaws of the present one, but that world too is devoid of what makes life meaningful. In its attempt to remove suffering and chaos, it has also stripped away love, art, and individuality—leaving only a sterile, unyielding landscape where clarity reigns but life cannot grow. This tension between despair and the desire for something purer but equally detached lies at the heart of the poem, making it a poignant reflection on the human condition and the limitations of both perception and existence.