Out of Bounds (PDF)
A collection of sixty poems touching on the essence of existence: life, joy, sorrow, death.
"Here is poetry, with the heft that comes from a gift for catching in flight a particular person, a place, an event, an object."-Michael G. Cooke, Yale University.
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A collection of sixty poems touching on the essence of existence: life, joy, sorrow, death.
"Here is poetry, with the heft that comes from a gift for catching in flight a particular person, a place, an event, an object."-Michael G. Cooke, Yale University.
After a day-long airline strike in Milan,
hours of airport tedium in Heathrow,
lost luggage in New York, I find thé garden
waiting as a mother, arms sretched out,
a fragrant haven of herbs and flowers.
As I climb down five steps, bright colors billow,
floating in silence up from a sultry floor.
Late July cuts mosaics in salvia-edged
flowerbeds and tiled paths glow verdigris.
My quick moods slacken through smooth balms that snap
like mountain brackens and lead to a deep corner
where a wrought-iron bench rests, and a whole world
nests forever, where I sit and nearly
whelm in memories of other summers that
eddy in shadow, and thé garden stretches
and argues against my wanderlust.
Lights at Romsdal
Day. The bus glides along thé Trolls` Road
as through thé séquence of a dream.
Stream after stream, U-shaped valleys,
glacial lakes, ice-evened mountains, sated
in argentine light, hâve left delight
and turbulence fluid in my mind. Now,
rocks that bear thé names of pawnsKing,
Bishop, Queenseem beneficent deities
bathed in silver showering from heaven,
and I feel a pigmy in primai awe
before a game of beauty among old giants.
This is as one dreams beauty to be. The mind
aches to find new words to render thé changes
lily-light brings to air, mountains water,
but ail sensés succumb, alert yet dumbstruck
to a speechless siège, until my eyes blink pain.
There is too much brightness to bear
as if thé air, bare peaks and waterfalls
cried for it and an incontinent god
complied. Then thé unquiet star-mark
implanted in my heart sensés violence
and dark shadows striking through that light.
Night. In thé underground place
beyond thé root of my closed eyes,
ice-green-blue lake after ice-green-blue
lake, holding within their clear surface
thé mountains and sourceless lakes
of thé sky,
Out of thé window I hang awhile between Bishop
and Queen, seeking thé propitious signs
men unconsciously plead for.
Even before my soûl reaches
for thé strength rocks seem to possess
against thé force of wind and ice,
silver lights that flow, pitiless,
below, catch and make me touch
thé cold frailty of stone, and I know
I am a watcher and a pawn in a lingering
game of passing things, in thé hand
of a grave player who ponders his next move.
- Autor: Elizabeth Sullam
- 1987, 1. Auflage, 136 Seiten, Englisch
- Verlag: Digitalia
- ISBN-10: 091637940X
- ISBN-13: 9780916379407
- Erscheinungsdatum: 01.01.1987
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- Größe: 2.42 MB
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