Sunday, May 9, 2010

New Year's Eve - D.H. Lawrence

So many of the poems thus far have had sleep-time, dreams, and dawn for settings that I felt it was time to choose one set to the evening hours before  sleep, when so much loving takes place.  And what better than one by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930).... whose name is already synonymous with passion?  Lawrence is one of those slightly-larger-than-life characters, a fiercely independent thinker/writer (he declined joining the circle around Ezra Pound!), who is best known for one novel, though he wrote over a dozen in addition to collections of poetry and essays.  He lived away from England for many years after WW I because of public antipathy for his wife, who was German and rumored to have been for her homeland during the war.  Among the places he resided during this self-imposed exile was Santa Fe, NM, where literary groupies vied for his attentions.... Lawrence died in France at age 44.    I think of this poem as something that Mellors (Lady Chatterley's lover) could have written and tucked away: he was educated and well-read enough to do it.  In tone and content, it fits the passion (re)awakened by Connie...

New Year's Eve

There are only two things now,
The great black night scooped out
And this fireglow.

This fireglow, the core,
And we the two ripe pips
That are held in store.

Listen, the darkness rings
As it circulates round our fire.
Take off your things.

Your shoulder, your bruised throat!
Your breasts, your nakedness!
This fiery coat!

As the darkness flickers and dips,
As the firelight falls and leaps
From your feet to your lips!

                                                                             D.H. Lawrence - English

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