In the Hours of the Night

Posts tagged poem

19 notes


This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed… . Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain
For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see… . Look yet again—
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.
Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Filed under Edna St. Vincent Millay Bluebeard sonnet poem poetry American poetry

2 notes

A Courtesan’s Song, Sung When She Believed She Was Unheard

O my love, you should have come, this rainy afternoon!
All morning I rocked alone in my orchid boat;
My sails are all crumpled and damp with spray.

All day I put nothing in my mouth
But sweet ginger tea and the stem
of my pipe. O my love, you should have come!
My hair exhales its perfume.

O my love, you should have come!
I peeled grapes and lychees and dropped them
into glasses of sweet wine, waiting for you.
My chamber is empty, but in its cage my beautiful bird sings.

O my love, you should have come—
My bed is draggled—I am eaten up with hunger—
My hair is unwashed. My bird screeches.
O my love—you should have come.

so basically this is a hot mess that i can’t decide if i want to fix or not. but i like it as it is, for now. and i hope you do, too!

Filed under poem poetry Original Work

0 notes

Bright House

It is a bright house;
not a single room is dim.

It is a house which rises high
on the cliffs, open
as a lookout tower.

When the night comes
I put a light in it,
a light larger than the sun and the moon.

how my heart leaps
when my trembling fingers
strike a match in the evening.

I lift my breasts
and inhale and exhale the sound of love
like the passionate daughter of a lighthouse keeper.

It is a bright house.
I will create in it
a world no man can ever build.

 - Fukao Sumako, trans. by Kenneth Rexroth

Filed under Fukao Sumako poem poetry Japanese poetry Translated by Kenneth Rexroth

1 note


They’ve opened up a road in the jungle and found
a dark palace. Now almost humus.
Boots thunder in the rooms. Echoes and birds
fly up from another time. Light maddens them. Winds
flooding the dry lungs of the room
loosen ponderous curtains which fall swishing
to the floor.
When armchairs are touched by a future astonished heart
they dissolve in their own ashes;
worms pile dust upon dust,
digging the marrow out of mahogany and silks,
eating rugs and mirrors. Roses
in the rugs collapse under footsteps. Nothing.

- Julia Uceda, trans. by Willis Barnstone

Filed under Julia Uceda translated Willis Barnstone poem poetry