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Title: The Connoisseur: An American
Author: Eunice Tietjens [
More Titles by Tietjens]
He is not an old man, but he is lonely.
He who was born in the clash of a western city dwells
here, in this silent courtyard, alone.
Seven servants he has, seven men-servants. They
move about quietly and their slippered feet make
no sound. Behind their almond eyes move green,
sidelong shadows, and their limber hands are
never still.
In his house the riches of the Orient are gathered.
Ivory he has, carved in a thousand quaint, enticing
shapes--pleasant to the hand, smooth with the
caressing of many fingers.
And jade is there, dark green and milky white, with
amber from Korea and strange gems--beryl,
chrysoprase, jasper, sardonyx....
His lacquered shelves hold priceless pottery--peachblow
and cinnabar and silver grey--pottery
glazed like the new moon, fired how long ago
for a moon-pale princess of the East, whose very
name is dust!In his vaults are incredible textures and colors that
vibrate like struck jade.
Stiff with gold brocade they are, or soft as the coat of
a fawn--these sacred robes of a long dead priest,
silks of a gold-skinned courtesan, embroideries of
a lost throne.
When he unfolds them the shimmering heaps are like
living opals, burning and moving darkly with the
warm breath of beauty.
And other priceless things the collector has, so that
in many days he could not look upon them all.
Every morning his seven men-servants dress him, and
every evening they undress him. Behind their
almond eyes move green sidelong shadows.
In this silent courtyard the collector lives.
He is not an old man but he is lonely.
Peking
[The end]
Eunice Tietjens's poem: Connoisseur: An American
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