“Tournez, Tournez, Bon Chevaux De Bois”

By Edith Sitwell 

 

Turn, turn again,

Ape’s blood in each vein!

The people that pass

Seem castles of glass,

The old and the good

Giraffes of the blue wood,

The soldier, the nurse,

Wooden-face and a curse,

Are shadowed with plumage

Like birds, by the gloomage.

Blond hair like a clown’s

The music floats—drowns

The creaking of ropes,

The breaking of hopes,

The wheezing, the old,

Like harmoniums scold;

Go to Babylon, Rome,

The brain-cells called home,

The grave, new Jerusalem—

Wrinkled Methusalem!

From our floating hair

Derived the first fair

And queer inspiration

Of music, the nation

Of bright-plumed trees

And harpy-shrill breeze . . .

     *  *  *  *

Turn, turn again,

Ape’s blood in each vein!

 

I think this is about the fragility of men and the primal instincts that drive us. How we just happen on good ideas sometimes and how its best to just go through life sometimes and try not to break.