Today (Sept. 27) marks the anniversary of the death of poet H.D. (Hilda Doolittle, d. 1961).
We celebrate the occasion with five of our favorite poems by her…
Mid-day
H.D.
The light beats upon me.
I am startled–
a split leaf crackles on the paved floor–
I am anguished–defeated.
A slight wind shakes the seed-pods–
my thoughts are spent
as the black seeds.
My thoughts tear me,
I dread their fever.
I am scattered in its whirl.
I am scattered like
the hot shrivelled seeds.
The shrivelled seeds
are spilt on the path–
the grass bends with dust,
the grape slips
under its crackled leaf:
yet far beyond the spent seed-pods,
and the blackened stalks of mint,
the poplar is bright on the hill,
the poplar spreads out,
deep-rooted among trees.
O poplar, you are great
among the hill-stones,
while I perish on the path
among the crevices of the rocks.
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C. Christopher Smith is the founding editor of The Englewood Review of Books. He is also author of a number of books, including most recently How the Body of Christ Talks: Recovering the Practice of Conversation in the Church (Brazos Press, 2019). Connect with him online at: C-Christopher-Smith.com
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