Iím used to loss itself:
itís trivial things that smart, wear out my heart:
orphaned mug on kitchen shelf,
terrace table grown too long,
and by its side a wooden chair, vacant.
Without end, they caution strong,
shadowing me in endless pageant.
I disregard remorse for love demurred
Or grief for tenderness delayed
through lifeís uncertain lane.
Itís the scrutiny of minor things in winter
depths, an enduring bane
by which my heart grows fainter.
"Bereavement" is subtly song-like, the register just off center ("Without end, they caution strong"), attractively so, I thought. A ruffled surface may indicate more underwater activity. I wondered how to read "Oh misplaced books!" - how straight, how far a conscious gesture. The lines afterwards suggested it was straight. As straight rhetoric the last five lines were maybe just a touch overwrought. But the ear for phrase was impressive and the first verse very promising. How to balance inflation with deflation? Hard to know. --George Szirtes
Mis temas favoritos
The Lord replied, my precious, precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.
"There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction."
Sylvia Plath, Crossing the Water, Wuthering Heights.
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