Friday, March 21, 2014

Denise Levertov / Interim

by Denise Levertov
for K.S.
A black page of night flutters: dream on or waken, words will spring from darkness now, gold-bright, to fill the hollow mind laid still to hear them, as an iron cup laid on the window-ledge, would fill with rain. Not more alone waking than sleeping, in darkness than in light, yet it is now we can assume an attitude more listening than longing, extend invisible antennae towards some intimation, echo, emanation falling slowly like a destined feather that lights at last before the feet of hesitating fear. Not less alone in city than in solitude, at least this time--an hour or minute?--left between dreaming and action, where the only glitter is the soft gleam of words, affording intimacy with each submerged regret, awakes a new lucidity in pain, so that with day we meet familiar angels that were lately tears and smile to know them only fears transformed. London, 1946
Early Poems

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