Homage to D.H. Lawrence
Today I read Lawrence’s poem
On breasts like Gloire de Dijon.
I saw the golden shadows
Of swung breasts swaying
Like full-blown yellow roses
On the panes of showers.
Now as I sit down to write
My daily poem, I cannot concentrate.
My lines pale against the yellow roses,
Against the glistening silver shoulders,
Against the sluicing sounds
Of rain disheveled petals.
I desire now my day white lilies
And my evening jasmine.
Someday I'll celebrate them in a poem,
But now I pay homage to Lawrence,
Wanting swung breasts swaying
Like full-blown yellow roses
Like Gloire de Dijon.
On breasts like Gloire de Dijon.
I saw the golden shadows
Of swung breasts swaying
Like full-blown yellow roses
On the panes of showers.
Now as I sit down to write
My daily poem, I cannot concentrate.
My lines pale against the yellow roses,
Against the glistening silver shoulders,
Against the sluicing sounds
Of rain disheveled petals.
I desire now my day white lilies
And my evening jasmine.
Someday I'll celebrate them in a poem,
But now I pay homage to Lawrence,
Wanting swung breasts swaying
Like full-blown yellow roses
Like Gloire de Dijon.
posted by Ravi Kopra at 5:27 AM
8 Comments:
beautiful
a better word: exquisite. thank you writing for this glorious poem.
heather,
thank you for stopping by. I appreciate your views, and do take criticism with open heart. So you are welcome for any comment, good or bad.
I've read with interest as you've been writing what have seemed to be more personal poems, more frequently. It seems to me that this poem is a perfect fruit of your labours.
In this latest, you've intertwined double passions -- your understanding of other poets' work, and your impulse to write original poetry.
(In New York City's Cloisters museum, there's an outdoor cloister with a garden. In the garden, against an old southwest-facing stone wall, are a pair of espaliered pear trees. The trees are tied and pinned back against their trellises, so they grow in two dimensions only. The restriction, and the heat captured by the stone wall the trees are trellised against, focus the trees' energies go into producing only a few fruits. But what fruits...5 or 6 pears from each tree, each year, and each pear is big, perfectly-shaped, and looks almost as if it's covered with a film of soft gold. The pears glow aginst the dark greens and greys of the trees' foliage and the old stone wall. Your poem today has a beauty like that: an apparently restrained environment produces, because of the restraint, an incredibly beautiful result, that is all the more beautiful because the restrained support is visible too. The pear trees' limbs are entwined and braided, just like your twin passions in this poem.)
The pear tree tale is another way of saying thank you for such a beautful piece of writing.
Your poems about sex and passion are fabulous, in general. Thanks again.
Thank you heather.
Your metaphor of two restrained pear trees growing intertwined in two dimensions and bearing an occasional fruit is 'exquisite'.
Anomymous...
A threat? On someone else's blog? Tsk-tsk, how rude.
Ravi, I apologize for answering this here, but I don't take kindly to threats, no matter who writes them.
anonymous,
your comment is not appreciated. I am deleting you.
-------------------
heather,
please ignore him/her.
Dear Ravi
Please see "For R/T" on my blog.
love, Heather
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