şükela:  tümü | bugün
  • bir sylvia plath şiiri:

    in sunless air, under pines
    green to the point of blackness, some
    founding father set these lobed, warped stones
    to loom in the leaf-filtered gloom
    black as the charred knuckle-bones

    of a giant or extinct
    animal, come from another
    age, another planet surely. flanked
    by the orange and fuchsia bonfire
    of azaleas, sacrosanct

    these stones guard a dark repose
    and keep their shapes intact while sun
    alters shadows of rose and iris ---
    long, short, long --- in the lit garden
    and kindles a day's-end blaze

    colored to dull the pigment
    of azaleas, yet burnt out
    quick as they. to follow the light's tint
    and intensity by midnight
    by noon and throughout the brunt

    of various weathers is
    to know the still heart of the stones:
    stones that take the whole summer to lose
    their dream of the winter's cold; stones
    warming at core only as

    frost forms. no man's crowbar could
    uproot them: their beards are ever-
    green. nor do they, once in a hundred
    years, go down to drink the river:
    no thirst disturbs a stone's bed.
  • "(...) alacakaranlıkta yemyeşil parkta yürüyüşe çıktık - "child's park stones" (çocuğun park taşları) adında güzel, hece ölçülü bir şiir yazdım, sıra sıra uçuk turuncu ve fuşya* açelyalara bu parkın amerika'daki en sevdiğim yer olduğunu hissediyorum." sylvia plath - the journals of sylvia plath

    (bkz: hapse göndermek)