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.

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.