16 June 2018

The fist, a poem by Derek Walcott

The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved

past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.

Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

Derek Walcott


Michelle said...

Oh yes! Yes to plunging howling into the abyss!

Michelle said...

PS. For me, this is an example of how great short poems can be. Ten lines says it all.

Rethabile said...

Hadn't counted the lines: ten lines... ten fingers? Who knows? I agree with you on the length of poems. Any length will do, but all of it has to be a poem, tight, true to itself.

Lyrically speaking said...

Short poems that are gripping are the best. Tu me visite plus Rethabile? :(

Rethabile said...

Si, si, je viens chez toi de temps en temps. Je ne peux pas ne pas venir voir ma soeur...

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