tirsdag 24. mai 2016

I natt hentar eg fram eit dikt som er engelsk, dette er berre ei natt for Sylvia Plath sine ord...

Monologue At 3AM

Better that every fiber crack
and fury make head,
blood drenching vivid
couch, carpet, floor
and the snake-figured almanac
vouching you are
a million green counties from here,

than to sit mute, twitching so
under prickling stars,
with stare, with curse
blackening the time
goodbyes were said, trains let go,
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from
my one kingdom.

Sylvia Plath

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