I think that night's our balance, our counterweight - a blind woman we turn to for nothing but dark. ̺ ̺ ̺ In Val-Mont I see a slab of parchment, a black quill pen in stone. In a sculptor's garden there was a head made from stone, large as a room, the eyes neatly hooded staring out with a crazed somnolence fond of walled gardens. ̺ ̺ ̺ The countesses arch like cats in chateaux. They wake up as countesses and usually sleep with counts. Nevertheless he writes them painful letters, thinking of Eleanor of Aquitaine, Gaspara Stampa. With Kappus he calls forth the stone in the rose. ̺ ̺ ̺ In Egypt the dhows sweep the Nile with ancient sails. I am in Egypt, he thinks, this Baltic jew - it is hot, how can I make bricks with no straw? His own country rich with her food and slaughter, fit only for sheep and generals. ̺ ̺ ̺ He thinks of the coffin of the East, of the tiers of dead in Venice, those countless singulars. At lunch, the baked apple too sweet with kirsch becomes the tongues of convent girls at gossip, under the drum and shadow of pigeons the girl at promenade has almond in her hair. ̺ ̺ ̺ From Duino, beneath the mist, the green is so dark and green it cannot bear itself. In the night, from black paper I cut the silhouette of this exiled god, finding him as the bones of a fish in stone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEJECTION by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE MAKING OF MAN by JOHN WHITE CHADWICK A GAGE D'AMOUR by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON TO SIR HENRY WOTTON (1) by JOHN DONNE SEA GODS: 1 by HILDA DOOLITTLE PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES by FRANCIS BRET HARTE BALLAD OF HECTOR IN HADES by EDWIN MUIR THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY THE BABYLONIAN HORDES by ISAAC ROSENBERG |