!DOCTYPE html> html> head lang=”en-US”> title>Chaplin by A. S. J. Tessimond/title> /div> h1 class=”pageTitle”>Chaplin/h1> div class=”entry-content clearfix”> h2 class=”author”>by A. S. J. Tessimond/h2> div id=”content”> p>The sun, a heavy spider, spins in the thirsty sky.br /> The wind hides under cactus leaves, in doorway corners. Only the wry/p> p>Small shadow accompanies Hamlet-Petrouchka’s march; the slightbr /> Wry sniggering shadow in front of the morning, turning at noon, behind towards night./p> p>The plumed cavalcade has passed to tomorrow, is lost again;br /> But the wisecrack-mask, the quick-flick-fanfare of the cane remain./p> p>Diminuendo of footsteps even is done:br /> Only remain, Don Quixote, hat, cane, smile and sun./p> p>Goliaths fall to our sling, but craftier fates than thesebr /> Lie ambushed; malice of open manholes, strings in the dark and falling trees./p> p>God kicks our backsides, scatters peel on the smoothest stair;br /> And towering centaurs steal the tulip lips, the aureoled hair,/p> p>While we, craned from the gallery, throw our cardboard flowersbr /> And our feet jerk to tunes not played for ours./p>/div> p>br /> br> /body> /html>
Arthur Seymour John Tessimond (1902 -1962) was an English poet. He had a tumultuous childhood, ran from boarding school, went to work, somehow attended the University of Liverpool, avoided service in WWI and then discovered that he is unfit for military service after he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which in those days was known as manic depression. A.S. Tessimond is a wonderful poet though maybe somewhat underappreciated poet. He died from in 1962 from a brain haemorrhage.