Poesie inserite da Silvana Stremiz

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'Twas warm - at first - like Us -
Until there crept upon
A Chill - like frost upon a Glass -
Till all the scene - be gone.
The Forehead copied Stone -
The Fingers grew too cold
To ache - and like a Skater's Brook -
The busy eyes - congealed -

It straightened - that was all -
It crowded Cold to Cold -
It multiplied indifference -
As Pride were all it could -

And even when with Cords -
'Twas lowered, like a Freight -
It made no Signal, nor demurred,
But dropped like Adamant.

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Her sweet Weight on my Heart a Night
Had scarcely deigned to lie -
When, stirring, for Belief's delight,
My Bride had slipped away -
If 'twas a Dream - made solid - just
The Heaven to confirm -
Or if Myself were dreamed of Her -
The power to presume -

With Him remain - who unto Me -
Gave - even as to All -
A Fiction superseding Faith -
By so much - as 'twas real.

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He parts Himself - like Leaves -
And then - He closes up -
And then He leans with all His Might
Upon a Buttercup -
And then He runs against
And oversets a Rose -
And then does Nothing -
Then away upon a Jib - He goes -

And dangles like a Mote
Suspended in the Noon -
Uncertain - to return Below -
Or settle in the Moon -

What come of Him - at Night -
The privilege to say
Be limited by Ignorance -
What come of Him - That Day -

The Frost - possess the World -
In Cabinets - be shown -
A Sepulchre of quaintest Floss -
An Abbey - a Cocoon.

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Beauty - be not caused - It Is -
Chase it, and it ceases -
Chase it not, and it abides -
Overtake the Creases

In the Meadow - when the Wind
Runs his fingers thro' it -
Deity will see to it
That You never do it.

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No Crowd that has occurred
Exhibit - I suppose
That General Attendance
That Resurrection - does -
Circumference be full -
The long restricted Grave
Assert her Vital Privilege -
The Dust - connect - and live -

On Atoms - features place -
All Multitudes that were
Efface in the Comparison -
As Suns - dissolve a star -

Solemnity - prevail -
It's Individual Doom
Possess each - separate Consciousness -
August - Resistless - dumb -

What Duplicate - exist -
What scenery can be -
Of the Significance of This -
To Universe - and Me?

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Her smile was shaped like other smiles -
The Dimples ran along -
And still it hurt you, as some Bird
Did hoist herself, to sing,
Then recollect a Ball, she got -
And hold upon the Twig,
Convulsive, while the Music crashed -
Like Beads - among the Bog.

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Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their - low Brows -
Or Bees - that thought the Summer's name
Some rumor of Delirium,
No Summer - could - for Them -

Or Arctic Creatures, dimly stirred -
By Tropic Hint - some Travelled Bird
Imported to the Wood -

Or Wind's bright signal to the Ear -
Making that homely, and severe,
Contented, known, before -

The Heaven - unexpected come,
To Lives that thought the Worshipping
A too presumptuous Psalm.

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The Soul has Bandaged moments -
When too appalled to stir -
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her -
Salute her, with long fingers -
Caress her freezing hair -
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover - hovered - o'er -
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme - so - fair -

The soul has moments of Escape -
When bursting all the doors -
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings upon the Hours,

As do the Bee - delirious borne -
Long Dungeoned from his Rose -
Touch Liberty - then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise -

The Soul's retaken moments -
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the Song,

The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue.

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If you were coming in the Fall,
I'd brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls -
And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse -

If only Centuries, delayed,
I'd count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's Land.

If certain, when this life was out -
That your's and mine, should be -
I'd toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity -

But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee -
That will not state - it's sting.

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It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down -
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.
It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos - crawl -
Nor Fire - for just my Marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool -

And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine -

As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And 'twas like Midnight, some -

When everything that ticked - has stopped -
And Space stares all around -
Or Grisly frosts - first Autumn morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground -

But, most, like Chaos - Stopless - cool -
Without a Chance, or Spar -
Or even a Report of Land -
To justify - Despair.