In Durance
I am homesick after mine own kind,Oh I know that there are folk about me, friendly faces,But I am homesick after mine own kind.
"These sell our pictures"! Oh well,They reach me not, touch me some edge or that,But reach me not and all my life's becomeOne flame, that reacheth not beyondMine heart's own hearth,Or hides among the ashes there for thee."Thee"? Oh "thee" is who cometh firstOut of mine own-soul-kin,For I am homesick after mine own kindAnd ordinary people touch me not.Yea, I am homesickAfter mine own kind that know, and feelAnd have some breath for beauty and the arts.
Aye, I am wistful for my kin of the spiritAnd have none about me save in the shadowsWhen come they, surging of power, "DAEMON,""Quasi KALOUN" S.T. says, Beauty is most that a"calling to the soul."Well then, so call they; the swirlers out of the mistof my soul,They that come mewards bearing old magic.
But for all that, I am home sick after mine own kindAnd would meet kindred e'en as I am,Flesh-shrouded bearing the secret."All they that with strange sadness"Have the earth in mock'ry, and are kind to all,My fellows, aye I know the gloryOf th' unbounded ones, but ye, that hideAs I hide most the whileAnd burst forth to the windows only whiles or whilesFor love, or hope, or beauty or for power,Then smoulder, with the lids half closedAnd are untouched by echoes of the world.
Oh ye, my fellows: with the seas between us some be,Purple and sapphire for the silver shaftsOf sun and spray all shattered at the bowsOf such a "Veltro" of the vasty deepAs bore my tortoise house scant years agone:And some the hills hold off,The little hills to east us, though here weHave damp and plain to be our shutting in.
And yet my soul sings "Up!" and we are one.Yea thou, and Thou, and THOU, and all my kinTo whom my breast and arms are ever warm,For that I love ye as the wind the treesThat holds their blossoms and their leaves in cureAnd calls the utmost singing from the boughsThat 'thout him, save the aspen, were as dumbStill shade, and bade no whisper speak the birds of how"Beyond, beyond, beyond, there lies...."
Words in this poem
- homesick a.
- Pining for home; in a nostalgic condition.
- folk n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- wistful a.
- Longing; wishful; desirous. [For wishful; perhaps influenced by wistly, which is probably corrupted from OE. wisly certainly (from Icel. viss certain, akin to E. wit). See Wish.]
- sadness n.
- Heaviness; firmness.
- whiles conj.
- During the time that; while. Chaucer. Fuller.
- smoulder v. t.
- To smother; to suffocate; to choke. Holinshed.
- bade
- A form of the pat tense of Bid.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
In Durance is in the public domain. This text is taken from Personae, Project Gutenberg ebook #41162; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Ezra Pound, In Durance, in Personae (1909), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #41162, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/pound-personae/in-durance.html, id L01217.
Form and metre
In Durance is 53 lines in 6 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 85%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.4 syllables. 8 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 49% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter, other poems in blank verse.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 A-A kindA · faces · kindA
- 3 ----A-A- spirit · shadows · daemon · a · soulA · mist · soulA · magic
- 5 A-----A- beA · shafts · bows · deep · agone · off · weA · in
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| I am homesick after mine own kind, | 9 | ··/······ |
| Oh I know that there are folk about me, friendly faces, | 14 | ··········/˘/˘ |
| But I am homesick after mine own kind. | 10 | ···/······ |
| "These sell our pictures"! Oh well, | 8 | ··/˘/˘·· |
| They reach me not, touch me some edge or that, | 10 | ·········· |
| But reach me not and all my life's become | 10 | ········˘/ |
| One flame, that reacheth not beyond | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Mine heart's own hearth, | 4 | ···· |
| Or hides among the ashes there for thee. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| "Thee"? Oh "thee" is who cometh first | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Out of mine own-soul-kin, | 6 | ······ |
| For I am homesick after mine own kind | 10 | ···/······ |
| And ordinary people touch me not. | 10 | ·/˘·˘/˘··· |
| Yea, I am homesick | 5 | ···/· |
| After mine own kind that know, and feel | 9 | ········· |
| And have some breath for beauty and the arts. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Aye, I am wistful for my kin of the spirit | 11 | ···/˘·····/ |
| And have none about me save in the shadows | 11 | ·········/· |
| When come they, surging of power, "DAEMON," | 10 | ···/˘·/˘/˘ |
| "Quasi KALOUN" S.T. says, Beauty is most that a | 13 | /˘·····/˘···· |
| "calling to the soul." | 5 | /˘··· |
| Well then, so call they; the swirlers out of the mist | 12 | ············ |
| of my soul, | 3 | ··· |
| They that come mewards bearing old magic. | 10 | ·····/˘·/˘ |
| But for all that, I am home sick after mine own kind | 13 | ············· |
| And would meet kindred e'en as I am, | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| Flesh-shrouded bearing the secret. | 8 | ·/˘/˘·/˘ |
| "All they that with strange sadness" | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Have the earth in mock'ry, and are kind to all, | 11 | ··········· |
| My fellows, aye I know the glory | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| Of th' unbounded ones, but ye, that hide | 9 | ·˘/˘····· |
| As I hide most the while | 6 | ······ |
| And burst forth to the windows only whiles or whiles | 12 | ·····/˘/˘··· |
| For love, or hope, or beauty or for power, | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| Then smoulder, with the lids half closed | 9 | ·/˘·····˘ |
| And are untouched by echoes of the world. | 10 | ··˘/·/˘··· |
| Oh ye, my fellows: with the seas between us some be, | 13 | ···/˘········ |
| Purple and sapphire for the silver shafts | 10 | /˘·/˘··/˘· |
| Of sun and spray all shattered at the bows | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Of such a "Veltro" of the vasty deep | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| As bore my tortoise house scant years agone: | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| And some the hills hold off, | 6 | ······ |
| The little hills to east us, though here we | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Have damp and plain to be our shutting in. | 10 | ······//˘· |
| And yet my soul sings "Up!" and we are one. | 10 | ·········· |
| Yea thou, and Thou, and THOU, and all my kin | 10 | ·········· |
| To whom my breast and arms are ever warm, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| For that I love ye as the wind the trees | 10 | ·········· |
| That holds their blossoms and their leaves in cure | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And calls the utmost singing from the boughs | 10 | ···/·/˘··· |
| That 'thout him, save the aspen, were as dumb | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Still shade, and bade no whisper speak the birds of how | 12 | ·····/˘····· |
| "Beyond, beyond, beyond, there lies...." | 8 | ········ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.