terça-feira, 22 de maio de 2012


No, not wrong bride, wrong was the first thought of.
Comedy's plight ready to corpse unbidden.
Scope for tragic himmelfarb, things by Fordie
(Take The Good Soldier),

Meredith's prized watchmaker's monocle. True,
This is but how comedy piques narration;
Noble lives pre-eminently disordered.
How do you read me?

So far so granting, as finesse of prankdom,
Incompatibilities new devoted;
Gifts declaimed here, taxing prorata nuptials,
Virginal, blindly.

Failing true faith yet one may have contrition
It is your face, none other self about me;
Something registered in imagination
Factored by edits.

How that helm heatstruck shall appear shade-wrangled;
Stay so ringdove; croon the horizon vaguer.
Lyric extase traded agains possessing.
Spare me prediction;

Spare me long lifestyles of ungrieving godheads;
Eros no blessing nor the masque of Iris.
Where as time shakes down clarimote and sunfleck
Choose to be lucky.

Geoffrey HillOdi Barbare: The Daybooks II, Clutag Press, Thame, Oxford, 2012.

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