An Indian Ass

In Short

This volume is a striking debut collection of modernist poetry that navigates the intersection of ancient myth and the sterile, mechanical realities of the post-war world. Through lyrical laments for Adonis, cynical portraits of socialites, and dreamlike explorations of solitude, the verses chart a transition from traditional romanticism to a sharper, more dissonant aesthetic. It has endured as a significant artifact of its era, reflecting the intellectual restlessness and stylistic experimentation of a generation grappling with the decay of old structures and the hollow promises of a new, industrialized age.

The Story

The collection begins with a mournful, atmospheric "Lament for Adonis," grounding the reader in the lush imagery of classical myth. This opening serves as a bridge, contrasting the rich, perfumed sorrow of antiquity with the cold, modern environments that follow. As the pages turn, the tone shifts from the mythological to the immediate and the urban. The speaker traverses a world of "back streets," luxury trains, and stagnant social gatherings where the air is thick with the residue of the Great War.

The arc of the book is one of gradual disillusionment. We are taken through "Capriccio Espagnol"—a vibrant, imagined Spain—and into the stark, wintry landscapes of "Trépak," where death is personified as a partner in a grim dance. The narrative voice is consistently that of an outsider, observing the "fleshy ears" of dinner guests and the "apoplectic streets" with a mixture of contempt and profound loneliness. The middle section of the book dwells on the struggle of the individual to find meaning in a world that feels increasingly like a "cratered" landscape of disease and banality.

The story progresses toward a confrontation with the inadequacy of language itself. The poem "Words" serves as a meta-commentary, where the speaker demands that words abandon their "prim rows" and "dusty glass" to become something visceral and real. This leads to the final, haunting sections, including the masterful translation of Stéphane Mallarmé’s "Hérodiade." In these closing movements, the book reaches its thematic climax: the assertion of the self in total isolation. Hérodiade, the icy, inaccessible queen, represents the ultimate form of the speaker’s desire for purity and detachment. The ending does not offer a resolution in the traditional sense; rather, it leaves the reader with a stark, diamond-hard image of a figure who has rejected the "tepid azure" of common life in favor of a cold, solitary existence. The final echoes are not of comfort, but of a quiet, "unheard of" expectancy that remains suspended in the void.

How It Unfolds

The mythic opening The collection opens with a heavy, atmospheric dirge for Adonis, establishing a lush, sensory vocabulary of myrrh, blood, and flowers. This sets the stage for a conflict between the beauty of the past and the encroaching decay of the present.

The modern descent The focus shifts to the contemporary world, moving from train compartments and gas-lit boulevards to the suffocating ennui of social life. Here, the imagery turns industrial and sharp, contrasting human fragility with the relentless, mechanical pace of modern existence.

The internal confrontation The speaker turns inward, dissecting the "pocks and scabs" of the mind and the struggle to maintain a sense of self amidst disease and societal collapse. These poems question the value of empathy and the sanity of the observer.

The arrival at silence The concluding pieces, particularly the translations, strip away the remaining ornamentation of the earlier poems. The book ends on a note of chilling, beautiful isolation, where the speaker fully embraces a detachment that is both a prison and a sanctuary.

The People

The book is populated by archetypal figures who serve as mirrors for the speaker's shifting psyche. Adonis appears as the archetypal lost beauty, a symbol of everything ephemeral and dead. The Prodigal Son is a central, recurring figure of the disillusioned young man, bored by his "grim agony" and rejecting the hollow expectations of his family. He represents a choice: to return to a stifling home or to wallow in the "slime" of his own making.

The Spinster Hob-Goblin and the various "lame ladies" inhabit the margins of the poems, representing a fractured, dreamlike existence that offers an escape from the "parquet floor" of reality. Hérodiade serves as the ultimate, chilling avatar of the speaker’s final state. She is regal, sterile, and intensely lonely, rejecting the "human thing" entirely in favor of an icy, self-contained perfection. Each of these figures is defined by their relationship to the "void." They do not change so much as they clarify, moving from a state of messy, emotional struggle toward a final, stoic resignation.

In Its Own Voice

“Ha ha! ha ha! this world doth pass Most merrily, I’ll be sworn; For many an honest Indian ass Goes for an Unicorn.”

This opening stanza sets a satirical, mocking tone for the contradictions of the age.

“The almoner of death, the silent creeper, Has snared my love, and I shall see him never, I, manacled in miseries, a weeper For ever.”

These lines from the lament illustrate the intense, mournful romanticism that colors the early portions of the collection.

“I love the dread of being virgin And I desire to live the terror of my hair-- To sense, inviolate reptile, on my couch At evening, stir within my useless flesh The frigid sparkle of your pallid lucence.”

This passage from the final section captures the speaker's ultimate craving for cold, untouchable purity.

What It's Really About

The central argument of the book is the impossibility of sustaining joy or meaning in a world that has been stripped of its illusions by war and industrialization. It poses the question of whether a modern individual should choose to engage with the "charabancs" and "banalities" of the crowd or retreat into an icy, hermetic solitude. The work suggests that beauty is often found in the very things that cause us the most agony—decay, silence, and the "terror" of being alone. It is a meditation on the cost of consciousness and the struggle to find a language that can survive the transition from the romantic to the clinical.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the dense, melancholic elegance of T.S. Eliot or the linguistic playfulness of the Sitwells will find this collection particularly resonant. Reading these poems feels like walking through a frost-covered city at dawn—it is quiet, sharp, and at times unnervingly detached. The book does not shy away from the morbidity of the era; its obsession with leprosy, disease, and "cold joints" is a visceral reminder of the post-WWI psychological landscape.

However, its greatest strength lies in its refusal to be merely grim. The music of the language, particularly in the later sections, is intoxicating. While the period attitudes—such as the occasional reliance on racialized metaphors or the rigid, class-bound social commentary—may feel dated or jarring to a modern reader, they are essential parts of the book’s historical honesty. It is a difficult, demanding, and deeply rewarding journey into the mind of a young poet trying to find his footing on the shifting tectonic plates of the 20th century. What stays with you is the haunting image of Hérodiade, the ultimate emblem of the desire for a crystalline, untouchable peace in a world that refuses to leave anyone alone.