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艾米·洛威尔诗歌欣赏:Patterns

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  艾米·洛威尔,美国诗人,她的第一部诗集是《多彩玻璃顶》。1913年她在实验性的意象派运动中脱颖而出,并继埃兹拉·庞德之后而成为该运动的领袖人物。她运用“自由韵律散文”和自由诗的形式进行创作,被称为“无韵之韵”。下面学习啦小编为大家带来艾米·洛威尔经典诗歌:Patterns,欢迎大家阅读!

  I walk down the garden paths,

  And all the daffodils

  Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.

  I walk down the patterned garden-paths

  In my stiff, brocaded gown.

  With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,

  I too am a rare

  Pattern. As I wander down

  The garden paths.

  My dress is richly figured,

  And the train

  Makes a pink and silver stain

  On the gravel, and the thrift

  Of the borders.

  Just a plate of current fashion,

  Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.

  Not a softness anywhere about me,

  Only whalebone and brocade.

  And I sink on a seat in the shade

  Of a lime tree. For my passion

  Wars against the stiff brocade.

  The daffodils and squills

  Flutter in the breeze

  As they please.

  And I weep;

  For the lime-tree is in blossom

  And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.

  And the plashing of waterdrops

  In the marble fountain

  Comes down the garden-paths.

  The dripping never stops.

  Underneath my stiffened gown

  Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,

  A basin in the midst of hedges grown

  So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,

  But she guesses he is near,

  And the sliding of the water

  Seems the stroking of a dear

  Hand upon her.

  What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!

  I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.

  All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.

  I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the

  paths,

  And he would stumble after,

  Bewildered by my laughter.

  I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles

  on his shoes.

  I would choose

  To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,

  A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,

  Till he caught me in the shade,

  And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,

  Aching, melting, unafraid.

  With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,

  And the plopping of the waterdrops,

  All about us in the open afternoon --

  I am very like to swoon

  With the weight of this brocade,

  For the sun sifts through the shade.

  Underneath the fallen blossom

  In my bosom,

  Is a letter I have hid.

  It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.

  "Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell

  Died in action Thursday se'nnight."

  As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,

  The letters squirmed like snakes.

  "Any answer, Madam," said my footman.

  "No," I told him.

  "See that the messenger takes some refreshment.

  No, no answer."

  And I walked into the garden,

  Up and down the patterned paths,

  In my stiff, correct brocade.

  The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,

  Each one.

  I stood upright too,

  Held rigid to the pattern

  By the stiffness of my gown.

  Up and down I walked,

  Up and down.

  In a month he would have been my husband.

  In a month, here, underneath this lime,

  We would have broke the pattern;

  He for me, and I for him,

  He as Colonel, I as Lady,

  On this shady seat.

  He had a whim

  That sunlight carried blessing.

  And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."

  Now he is dead.

  In Summer and in Winter I shall walk

  Up and down

  The patterned garden-paths

  In my stiff, brocaded gown.

  The squills and daffodils

  Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.

  I shall go

  Up and down,

  In my gown.

  Gorgeously arrayed,

  Boned and stayed.

  And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace

  By each button, hook, and lace.

  For the man who should loose me is dead,

  Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,

  In a pattern called a war.

  Christ! What are patterns for?

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