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More poems by John BerrymanJohn Berryman | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by John BerrymanBooks by John Berryman

Dream Song 172: Your face broods

John Berryman

Your face broods from my table, Suicide.
Your force came on like a torrent toward the end
of agony and wrath.
You were christened in the beginning Sylvia Plath
and changed that name for Mrs Hughes and bred
and went on round the bend

till the oven seemed the proper place for you.
I brood upon your face, the geography of grief,
hooded, till I allow
again your resignation from us now
though the screams of orphaned children fix me anew.
Your torment here was brief,

long falls your exit all repeatingly,
a poor exemplum, one more suicide,
to stack upon the others
till stricken Henry with his sisters & brothers
suddenly gone pauses to wonder why he
alone breasts the wronging tide.

Added: 3 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 21 Apr 2018 12:12 AM | Viewed: 4240 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/1060/ | Viewed on 20 April 2018.
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