Τετάρτη, 11 Φεβρουαρίου 2009

Sylvia Plath (27.10.1932 – 11.02.1963)

1 σχόλιο:

  1. My head a moon
    Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
    Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

    Does not my heat astound you. And my light.
    All by myself I am a huge camellia
    Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.

    I think I am going up,
    I think I may rise ---
    The beads of hot metal fly, and I, love, I

    Am a pure acetylene
    Virgin
    Attended by roses,

    By kisses, by cherubim,
    By whatever these pink things mean.
    Not you, nor him.

    Not him, nor him
    (My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats) ---
    To Paradise.

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