Gwen Harwood

Gwen Harwood

1,000 карма
United Kingdom (Great Britain)

Triste Triste

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In the space between love and sleepwhen heart mourns in its prisoneyes against shoulder keeptheir blood-black curtains tight
Body rolls back like a stone, and risenspirit walks to Easter light;away from its tomb of bone,away from the guardian...
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The Glass Jar

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To Vivian SmithA child one summer's evening soakeda glass jar in the reeling sunhoping to keep, when day was doneand all the sun's disciples cloakedin dream and darkness from his passion fled,this host, this pulse of light beside his bed
Wrap...
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The Wound

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The tenth day, and they givemy mirror back
Who knowshow to drink pain, and live
I look, and the glass showsthe truth, fine as a hair,of the scalpel's wounding care
A round reproach to allthat's warped, uncertain, clouded,the sun climbs
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Dichterliebe

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So hungry-sensitive that hecraves day and night the pap of praise,he'll ease his gripes or fingerpaintin heartsblood on a public page
The ordinary world must bealtered to circumvent his rage
He'll tell, with stylish Angst of course,the i...
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Estuary

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To Rex
Wind crosshatches shallow water
Paddocks rest in the sea's arm
Swamphens race through spiky grass
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