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Tuesday, 20 August 2013

Blanco, blanco, que te quiero blanco…

White, white, how I love you, white:

puffed breast of white gull,

smooth feathers,

white scraps of flight flung

like discarded letters

across the waves.

White foam scraped edgewards,

hemming the selvages of the waves.


White sheets, white cotton,

white gauze curtain

hanging motionless

in a breezeless hour.

White silence, white singing of the stars.

Off-white paperback mended with tape.

Yellowed pages, re-read and mended-


a gamekeeper, a lame creeper,

the same weeping woman;

green woods, purple shadows,

newly-hatched pheasant bods

like sparks of life:


She’d rather be caught by the wild hound of Pluto,

than by the speculative spaniel of Plato…


(The First Lady Chatterley, DH Lawrence)

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