Aug 25, 2006

From the Collected Works of Jane Kenyon .....

In the Grove: The Poet at Ten
She lay on her back in the timothyand gazed past the dodderingauburn heads of sumac.
A cloud-huge, calm,and dignified- covered the sunbut did not, could not, put it out.
The light surged back again.
Nothing could rouse her thenfrom the joy so violentit was hard to distinguish from pain.

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Anna Akhmatova translated by Jane Kenyon,
from Plantain, Poem #8
Yes I loved them, those gatherings late at night, --
the small table, glasses with frosted sides,
fragrant vapor rising from the black coffee,
the fireplace, red with powerful winter heat,
the biting gaiety of a literary joke,
and the first helpless and frightening glances of my love.

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