Denise Levertov: Все стихи поэта

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The Sea's Wash In The Hollow Of The Heart

Turn from that road's beguiling ease; return

to your hunger's turret. Enter, climb the stair

chill with disuse, where the croaking toad of time

regards from shimmering eyes your slow ascent

and the drip, drip, of darkness glimmers on the stone

to show you how your longing waits alone.

What alchemy shines from under that shut door,

spinning out gold from the hollow of the heart?

by Denise Levertov

Wanting The Moon

Not the moon. A flower

on the other side of the water.

The water sweeps past in flood,

dragging a whole tree by the hair,

a barn, a bridge. The flower

sings on the far bank.

Not a flower, a bird calling

hidden among the darkest trees, music

by Denise Levertov

Zeroing In

"I am a landscape," he said.

"a landscape and a person walking in that landscape.

There are daunting cliffs there,

And plains glad in their way

of brown monotony. But especially

there are sinkholes, places

of sudden terror, of small circumference

and malevolent depths."

by Denise Levertov

Settling

I was welcomed here—clear gold

of late summer, of opening autumn,

the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,

the mountain revealing herself unclouded, her snow

tinted apricot as she looked west,

Tolerant, in her steadfastness, of the restless sun

forever rising and setting.

Now I am given

by Denise Levertov

Everything That Acts Is Actual

From the tawny light

from the rainy nights

from the imagination finding

itself and more than itself

alone and more than alone

at the bottom of the well where the moon lives,

can you pull me

by Denise Levertov

Stepping Westward

What is green in me

darkens, muscadine.

If woman is inconstant,

good, I am faithful to

ebb and flow, I fall

in season and now

is a time of ripening.

If her part

by Denise Levertov

On A Theme By Thomas Merton

"Adam, where are you?"

God's hands

palpate darkness, the void

that is Adam's inattention,

his confused attention to everything,

impassioned by multiplicity, his despair.

Multiplicity, his despair;

God's hands

by Denise Levertov

To The Snake

Green Snake, when I hung you round my neck

and stroked your cold, pulsing throat

as you hissed to me, glinting

arrowy gold scales, and I felt

the weight of you on my shoulders,

and the whispering silver of your dryness

sounded close at my ears —

Green Snake—I swore to my companions that certainly

by Denise Levertov

Talking To Grief

Ah, Grief, I should not treat you

like a homeless dog

who comes to the back door

for a crust, for a meatless bone.

I should trust you.

I should coax you

into the house and give you

your own corner,

by Denise Levertov

On The Mystery Of The Incarnation

It's when we face for a moment

the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know

the taint in our own selves, that awe

cracks the mind's shell and enters the heart:

not to a flower, not to a dolphin,

to no innocent form

but to this creature vainly sure

it and no other is god-like, God

by Denise Levertov

People at Night

A night that cuts between you and you

and you and you and you

and me : jostles us apart, a man elbowing

through a crowd. We won't

look for each other, either-

wander off, each alone, not looking

in the slow crowd. Among sideshows

under movie signs,

by Denise Levertov

From The Roof

This wild night, gathering the washing as if it were flowers

animal vines twisting over the line and

slapping my face lightly, soundless merriment

in the gesticulations of shirtsleeves,

I recall out of my joy a night of misery

walking in the dark and the wind over broken earth,

halfmade foundations and unfinished

drainage trenches and the spaced-out

by Denise Levertov