Thursday, January 17, 2008

Sylvia Plath - Poppies In July



Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless. Colorless.

2 comments:

Katerina ante portas said...

Και η αισθητική του blog και το θέμα -ποίηση- είναι άξια θαυμασμού και συγχαρητηρίων βεβαίως βεβαίως!

akb8862 said...

Πάρα πολύ ωραίο !