I love Lee Harwood's poetry, I love it. In a better world, his poems would be much more widely read - and the same could be said of the most innovative contemporary British poets, for that matter.
Harwood's love/land-scapes deeply move me, for reasons I dare not elaborate on here. And maybe because some of his books are still so difficult to get hold of, I keep (re)discovering hidden gems, such as this one discreetly tucked away in a forgotten poetry anthology:
Spoken into a mirror
"I travel to you
your warmth
To stand or lie in each other's arms
battle scars, tired of the old deceits
we come nervously to each other
yet surely (we think)
Is this the clarity
we dream of?
Not magic but more powerful
in its simplicity --
us
Guided out beyond the ramparts
the savage boors
Touch me . . . you"
and tinkling bells in the distance
and the words flatter themselves, words on words,
and the first flakes of snow falling softly,
the landscape whitening out
from 'Czech Dream', in Other: British and Irish Poetry since 1970, eds. Richard Caddel and Peter Quartermain (Hanover and London: Wesleyan University Press, 1999), p. 108.
2 comments:
O teu blogue, Daniela, começa a atingir uma perfeição blosférica rara. Não venho todos os dias aqui, mas sempre que venho fico profundamente emocionado.
Obrigada pelo comentário, PJ, que também me deixa emocionada ";o).
Da mesma forma, as tuas visitas e comentários atingem uma perfeição rara, pois, como blogger, é exactamente assim que idealizo a participação dos leitores, a nossa (inter)relação: ocasional, relaxada, sem a expectativa mútua de leitura e escrita diárias, mas sempre calorosa e responsiva.
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