Elizabeth Jennings

The radiance of the star that leans on me Was shining years ago. The light that now

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

At my wits’ end ,And all resources gone, I lay here ,All of my body tense to the touch of fear ,And my mind

You would have understood each other well And proved to us how periods of art Are less important than the personal .Worlds that each painter makes from mind and heart

Today the children begin to hope for snow .and look in the sky for auguries of it .It is not for such omens that we wait Our world may not be settled by the slow

هي قصيدة للشاعرة إليزابيث جينينغز، تتحدث القصيدة عن التمريض والممرضات، يبدو أنّ الراوي يتعاطف معهم ويثني على العمل الذي يقومون به ولكن يبدو أنه يكافح لفهم كيفية قدرتهم على العمل.

;I kept my answers small and kept them near Big questions bruised my mind but still I let .Small answers be a bulwark to my fear

Now watch this autumn that arrives ;In smells. All looks like summer still Colours are quite unchanged, the air .On green and white serenely thrives

,Lying apart now, each in a separate bed ,He with a book, keeping the light on late ,She like a girl dreaming of childhood All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait

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

هي قصيدة للشاعرة إليزابيث جينينغز، تقدم هذه القصيدة سردًا للحنين إلى سماء مضاءة بالألعاب النارية التي تخلق لحظات السعادة في حياتنا.   ملخص قصيدة Remembering Fireworks   من خلال صور الألعاب النارية فإنها تعطي أيضًا معنى أعمق من خلال مقارنة الألعاب النارية بتلك الأيام التي نشعر فيها بالسعادة، وفي هذا ننسى أحزاننا التي عشناها في […]

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

Yes when the dark withdrew I suffered light ,And saw the candles heave beneath the wax I watched the shadow of my old self dwindle As softly on my recollection stole

When I was happy alone, too young for love Or to be loved in any but a way Cloudless and gentle, I would find the day .Long as I wished its length or web to weave

You are confronted with yourself. Each year .The pouches fill, the skin is uglier You give it all unflinchingly. You stare

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

,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

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

When I decide I shall assemble you Or, more precisely, when I decide which thoughts ,Of mine about you fit most easily together Then I can learn what I have loved, what lets

This to be peace, they think beside the river Being adapted well to expectation And their wives’ mutiny at no achievement And yet can sit watching the promises