1 min read
Слушать(AI)Crow Country
ED of station, noise alone, The crow's voice trembles down the sky As if this nitrous flange of stone Wept suddenly with such a cry; As if the rock found lips to sigh, The riven earth a mouth to moan; But we that hear them, stumbling by, Confuse their torments with our own. Over the huge abraded rind, Crow-countries graped with dung, we go, Past gullies that no longer flow And wells that nobody can find, Lashed by the screaming of the crow, Stabbed by the needles of the mind.
Kenneth Slessor
Kenneth Adolphe Slessor OBE (27 March 1901 – 30 June 1971) was an Australian poet, journalist and official war correspondent in World War II. He
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Winter Dawn
AT five I wake, rise, rub on the smoking pane A port to see—water breathing in the air, Boughs broken The sun comes up in a golden stain, Floats like a glassy sea-fruit There is mist everywhere, White and humid, and the Harbour is like p...
To Myself
ER all, you are my rather tedious hero; It is impossible (damn it ) to avoid Looking at you through keyholes But come At least you might try to be Even, let us say, a Graceful Zero Or an Eminent Molecule, gorgeously employed
North Country
North Country, filled with gesturing wood, With trees that fence, like archers' volleys, The flanks of hidden Where nothing's left to
Thief Of The Moon
Thief of the moon, thou robber of old delight, Thy charms have stolen the star-gold, quenched the moon- Cold, cold are the birds that, bubbling out of night, Cried once to my ears their unremembered tune- Dark are those orchards, their l...