Through the hand’s skill gradually
The head learnt its identity.
The shaping hand was touched and led
By the poem in the head.
Head and hand each went its own
Way, yet in strange unison.
Certainly the pair had set
Out by different routes; and yet
Their destination was the same.
A demon, jealous of the fame
That crowns the hard creative game,
BLEW – and turned back to brutish clay
The breathing replica of Day.
But Day survived and K. contrived
To keep her head and bring Day’s head
To life again another day.
1 In May 1970 we were staying with the late Kathleen and Johannes Schwarzenberg in their Tuscan villa (celebrated in The Whispering Roots). In the Cortile. our hostess was modelling CDL’s head in clay, preparatory to casting it. A storm blew up and completely wrecked the head. Undaunted, the sculptor started again from scratch, successfully. The finished head is still there, and she captured completely C.’s expression when composing.