Heart's Memory of Sun
Heart's memory of sun grows fainter,
sallow is the grass;
a few flakes toss in the wind
scarcely, scarcely.
The narrow canals no longer flow,
they are frozen over.
Nothing will ever happen here,
oh, never!
In the bleak sky the willow spreads
its bare-boned fan.
Maybe I'm better off as I am,
not as your wife.
Heart's memory of sun grows fainter.
What now? Darkness?
Perhaps? This very night unfolds
the winter.
~Kiev, 1911
Art found here.
3 comments:
Beautiful poem - perfect for this morning!
I wanted to say (re: your comment on Deborah Oak's blog) that having worshipped femine forms of the divine during my years as a witch really helped me understand the absurdity of assigning gender to deity. As a Jew I say God is a he as a convenience, but I don't experience the divine as any gender - more like, as Starhawk says, "a mystery that goes beyond form." That's such a Jewish way to look at it! Dear Miriam is still Jewish under all her starhawkishness.
Let's have a cup of coffee sometime. Want to? Email me if you're interested reyasdottir@verizon.net.
Beautiful, even if it's 60 degrees and sunny as usual here in the Valley. Akhmatova is so lyrical. That always gets me.
Today I've got e.e. cummings up.
or as my grandaddy, once the grandmason of va. used to quote, "the darkest hour is just before dawn."
i think he was sort of a hopeful bastard. now, he is just dead.
i always sort of liked the desolation of winter, don't really get that in florida, everything just sort of goes blah for a bit, then springs back to life.
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