by Sappho.
To me he seems like a god
as he sits facing you and
hears you near as you speak
softly and laugh
In a sweet echo that jolts
the heart in my ribs. For now
as I look at you my voice is
empty and can say nothing in my tongue
cracks and slender fire is quick
under my skin. My eyes are dead
to light, my ears
pound and sweat pours over me.
I convulse, paler than grass,
and feel my mind lip as I
go close to death
[but must suffer all, being poor]
Comentarios
Hemos hecho un enlace a este blog aquí:
http://vladimirteran.blogspot.com/2009/02/carta-de-rilke-un-joven-poeta-podcast.html
Saludos
Ahora que te conozco meteré mis narices a tu privacidad, si me lo permites...
Gracias.
Elizabeth