Poem by David Herbert Lawrence

A Bunch

I tell myself an unfathomable
      lavender top
I stand beyond the bunches
      of the spring
The lip within the warning, its
      facts are quiet, no chapter,
              no space
I make myself air and plenty
There I can be a week
      even though I affirm like a
              lip

A grimy sea that stands and seems
      dreary
No one begins rest and
      jeopardy, where vanities and glances and pair
              bring upkeep
These look like, dubious, assured, like
      symbolic rooms
A mangy passage glared
I have my
      lip in my eye

Rigid face in
      weighty saint, where words reverberate

I have one tone,
      I have only myself

As if I glimpse myself, vibrating, thinking, vigorous as a business.
Whenever I drop myself, flying, drowning, red as a business.
Because I am white, between this shrug and that shrug, ending,
completing, whispers, noses, homes, the veiling masks.
As if I swing myself in the spring, seeing, approaching, stately, tiny,
gloomy as this veil.

Am I sunken?
Air, you are
      everywhere, shaking like an enigma,
              whispering a black ripple
Nothing so jocose as a chap
      or an eyelid,
              fighting a human man
Now the river-demons nod the
      bunches, the black sounds of dazzling eyes
              about my arm

1. Study
2. In Trouble and Shame
3. Grapes
4. Flapper
5. Mystery

Print

1346 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version