Читать книгу Apples from Shinar - Hyam Plutzik - Страница 17

THE PREMONITION

Trying to imagine a poem of the future,

I saw a nameless jewel lying

Lurid on a table of black velvet.

Light winked there like eyes half-lidded,

Raying the dark with signals,

Lunar, mineral, maddening

As that white night-flower herself,

And with her delusive chastity.

Then one said: “I am the poet of the damned.

My eyes are seared with the darkness that you willed me.

This jewel is my heart, which I no longer need.”