H.D. picked up where Sappho left off in Fragment 113. Have a read... Fragment 113 by Hilda Doolittle [from Hymen (Henry Holt and Company, 1921)] Neither honey nor bee for me. —Sappho Not honey, not the plunder of the bee from meadow or sand-flower or mountain bush; from winter-flower or shoot born of the later heat: not honey, not the sweet stain on the lips and teeth: not honey, not the deep plunge of soft belly and the clinging of the gold-edged pollen-dusted feet; not so– though rapture blind my eyes, and hunger crisp dark and inert my mouth, not honey, not the south, not the tall stalk of red twin-lilies, nor light branch of fruit tree caught in flexible light branch; not honey, not the south; ah flower of purple iris, flower of white, or of the iris, withering the grass– for fleck of the suns fire, gathers such heat and power, that shadow-print is light, cast through the petals of the yellow iris flower; not iris–old desire–old passion– old forgetfulness–old pain– not this, nor any flower, but if you turn again, seek strength of arm and throat, touch as the god; neglect the lyre-note; knowing that you shall feel, about the frame, no trembling of the string but heat, more passionate of bone and the white shell and fiery tempered steel.
Posted on: Wed, 16 Oct 2013 23:05:41 +0000
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