I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
by Sylvia Plath [source: PDF]
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Playthings
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a
broken twig all the morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game
to spoil your morning with!"
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in
sticks and mud-pies.
I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of
gold and silver.
With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both
my time and my strength over things I never can obtain.
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire,
and forget that I too am playing a game.
["Playthings" by Rabindranath Tagore. Translated into English by Tagore himself; you can see the collection here. I don't like the choice of the word 'mud-pies'. Doesn't sound right]
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