شعر إنجليزي

هي قصيدة للشاعرة كارول آن دافي تبدأ بالتركيز على اللحظة التي قطعوا فيها الحبل، وقطعوا الصلة المادية بين الشاعرة وابنتها، بينما يكبر الطفل، تظل فضولية بشأن هذا الحبل

Theseus, if he did destroy the Minotaur ,(It's hard to say, that may have been a myth) .Was careful not to close the labyrinth

Two universes mosey down the street .Connected by love and a leash and nothing else Mostly I look at lamplight through the leaves ,While he mooches along with tail up and snout down

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle That while you watched turned to pieces of snow Riding a gradient invisible .From silver aslant to random, white, and slow

.I have had enough .I gasp for breath

—Whirl up, sea ,whirl your pointed pines splash your great pines

on my block, a gate on my block, a tree smelling of citrus & jasmine that knocks me back into the arms of my dead

You can invest everything in someone. This one feeling chopping you up. Anyone can go into the night. I just want to be gone. I want to be unknown. There’s a storm coming. Euphoria trapped in a vial ... 

,In the evenings of my childhood ,when I went to bed ,music washed into the cove of my room .my door open to a slice of light

which do you love more a feather or a rock 'to be good is to be 'natural I mean to appear

,It's just getting dark, fog drifting in ,damp grasses fragrant with anise and mint and though I call his name ,until my voice cracks

Harriet Tubman didn't take no stuff Wasn't scared of nothing neither Didn't come in this world to be no slave And wasn't going to stay one either

.I visited the place where we last met ,Nothing was changed, the gardens were well-tended ;The fountains sprayed their usual steady jet

:I should be happy with my lot A wife and mother – is it not ?Enough for me to be content ?What other blessing could be sent

O silent wood, I enter thee With a heart so full of misery For all the voices from the trees

;Much have I spoken of the faded leaf ,Long have I listened to the wailing wind ,And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds

.An Owl’s call scrapes the stillness Curtains are barriers and behind them .The beds settle into neat rows .Soon they’ll be ruffled

I do not understand this child Though we have lived together now In the same house for years. I know Nothing of him, so try to build

I died for beauty, but was scarce ,Adjusted in the tomb When one who died for truth was lain .In an adjoining room

—I cannot live with You  —It would be Life —And Life is over there  Behind the Shelf

How happy is the little Stone ,That rambles in the Road alone And doesn’t care about Careers —And Exigencies never fears

,He ate and drank the precious words ;His spirit grew robust ,He knew no more that he was poor .Nor that his frame was dust

Methinks, ’tis strange you can’t afford ;One pitying look, one parting word ,Humanity claims this as due ?But what’s humanity to you

Save them from terror; do not let them see .The ghost behind the stairs, the hidden crime They will, no doubt, grow out of this in time .And be as impervious as you and me

,It was only a film Perhaps I shall say later Forgetting the story, left only With bright images- the blazing dawn

.They slip on to the bus, hair piled up high ,New styles each month, it seems to me. I look Not wanting to be seen, casting an eye .Above the unread pages of a book

I have sometimes thought how it would have been -If I had had to create the whole thing myself ;My life certainly but also something else ,I mean a world which I could inhabit freely

Window upon the wall, a balcony With a light chair, the air and water so Mingled you could not say which was the sun

Last Night I saw the savage world And heard the blood beat up the stair The fox’s bark the owl’s shrewd pounce The crying creatures all were there

,A Coffin—is a small Domain Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise .In it diminished Plane