Category: بین الاقوامی ادب International Literature

A stupor on the heath,             And wrath along the sky;             Space everywhere; beneath A flat and treeless wold for us, and darkest noon on high.             Sullen quiet below,             But storm in upper air!             A wind from long ago, In mouldy chambers of the cloud had ripped an arras there,             And singed the triple gloom,             And let through, in a flame,             Crowned faces of old Rome: Regnant o’er Rome’s abandoned ground, processional they came.             Uprisen as any sun             Through vistas hollow grey,             Aloft, and one by one, In brazen casques the…

Somebody has given my Baby daughter a box of Old poker chips to play with.    Today she hands me one while    I am sitting with my tired    Brain at my desk. It is red.    On it is a picture of An elk’s head and the letters    B.P.O.E.—a chip from A small town Elks’ Club. I flip    It idly in the air and Catch it and do a coin trick    To amuse my little girl. Suddenly everything slips aside.    I see my father Doing the very same thing,    Whistling “Beautiful Dreamer,”   …

When she comes back, from college, I will see the skin of her upper arms, cool, matte, glossy. She will hug me, my old soupy chest against her breasts, I will smell her hair! She will sleep in this apartment, her sleep like an untamed, good object, like a soul in a body. She came into my life the second great arrival, after him, fresh from the other world—which lay, from within him, within me. Those nights, I fed her to sleep, week after week, the moon rising, and setting,…

i In view of the fading animals the proliferation of sewers and fears the sea clogging, the air nearing extinction we should be kind, we should take warning, we should forgive each other Instead we are opposite, we touch as though attacking, the gifts we bring even in good faith maybe warp in our hands to implements, to manoeuvres ii Put down the target of me you guard inside your binoculars, in turn I will surrender this aerial photograph (your vulnerable sections marked in red) I have found so useful…

Sun from the south, Moon’s companion cast her right hand over the sky’s rim. Sun did not see who labored in her shade, a gardener who had no heights to scale. Sun did not know where she had a home, yet the gardener’s hands found certainty in soil. Stars did not know where they belonged, while the gardener’s boots left prints in softened ground. And as the gardener’s work broached heaven’s margin, Moon did not know what strength she held.