Poet-in-Residence's Poem of the Month (May 2008)

In his introduction to 'W.B.Yeats The Poems' Daniel Albright quotes a bit of blarney from Ezra Pound:

Neath Ben Bulben's buttoks lies
Bill Yeats, a poet twoice the soize
of William Shakespear, as they say
Down Ballykillywuchlin way.

Any poet reckond to be twice the size of the Bard of Avon must certainly be worthy of inclusion in Poet-in-Residence's Poem of the Month Series. From 'The Winding Stair and Other Poems' comes the following, dated 1928:

Mohini Chatterjee

I asked if I should pray,
But the Brahmin said,
'Pray for nothing, say
Every night in bed,
"I have been a king,
I have been a slave,
Nor is there anything,
Fool, rascal, knave,
That I have not been,
And yet upon my breast
A myriad heads have lain."'

That he might set at rest
A boy's turbulent days
Mohini Chatterjee
Spoke these words, or word like these.
I add in commentary,
'Old lovers yet may have
All that time denied -
Grave is heaped upon grave
That they be satisfied -
Over the blackened earth
The old troops parade,
Birth is heaped upon birth
That such cannonade
May thunder time away,
Birth-hour and death-hour meet,
Or, as great sages say,
Men dance on deathless feet.