A Woman and Her Dead Husband audiofile (4:12).
This poem (text here) was one of Lawrence's contributions to The New Poetry; an Anthology (1917,), edited by Harriet Monroe and Alice Corbin Henderson, which I found in a used bookstore last week. I was damn happy to get my hands on it (my copy is the 1920 edition); The New Poetry was, and is, an important event in English poetry.
All My Dead Gather
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I know all my dead gather on these spring days Under the ground,
unreasoning, Their restlessness a writhe of slow-waking worms Aerating the
newly-thawed ea...
5 weeks ago
4 comments:
Huh--two stanzas, one after another--the first is lovely, I think, and the second cringeworthy. It is tough to write sex--Lady Chatterly's Lover is a so much dead meat--the second stanza here sounds like Lady Chatterly.
nd his eyes could see 25
The white moon hang like a breast revealed
By the slipping shawl of stars,
Could see the small stars tremble
As the heart beneath did wield
Systole, diastole. 30
And he showed it me
So, when he made his love to me;
And his brows like rocks on the sea jut out,
And his eyes were deep like the sea
With shadow, and he looked at me,
Till I sank in him like the sea,
Awfully.
Kill all typos!
Heh, did I falter a little as I read that stanza? 'Cause it was damn hard to do it with a straight face and utmost conviction.
Nope, steady as a rock. Very nice on the allieteration too.
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