Sunday, January 8, 2017

Haiku Two to Fourteen

Into the lake spill
a single drop of wine
and there fades the sun

In the meadows
not one four-leaf clover;
among the three of us, who is to blame?

In the museum garden
Chairs deserted.
The statues have gone back
to that other museum.

Could that be the voice?
of our dead friends?
or could that be the phonograph?

She rests her fingers
on the sea-blue scarf
Look, there: corals!

Heavy are her breasts
through the looking glass

Again I put on
the tree leaves
and you, you bleat.

Darkness. The wind.
Divorce spreads
and moves in waves.

Naked woman
the pomegranate she threw
was full of stars.

I am raising now
a dead butterfly
with no make-up

How can you gather
the thousand little pieces
of each person?

What's wrong with the rudder?
The boat goes in circles
And not a single gull in sight

Sick Fury
She has no eyes left,
the snakes she was grasping
swallow her hands.

There is a hole in this column.
Can you see

George Seferis

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