I knew a Woman!

Theodore Roethke

(1908-1963)

I knew a Woman

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,

When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;

Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:

The shapes a bright container can contain!

Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,

Or English poets who grew up on Greek

(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,

She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;

She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;

I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;

She was the sickle; I poor I, the rake,

Coming behind her for her pretty sake

(But what prodigious mowing we did make).

Love like a gander, and adores a goose:

Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;

She played it quick, she played it light and loose;

My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;

Her several parts could keep a pure repose,

Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose

(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:

I'm martyr to a motion not my own;

What's freedom for? To know eternity.

I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.

But who count eternity in days?

These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:

(I measure time by how a body sways).

So I live and so I dream

So I live and so I dream

So I hear and so I think

Rich I am 

Imagine

Rich of Life

Imagine

with the Golden Light

and the waves flushing 

up the sand while I

Sink into my womb chair 

or my plateau bed

The golden light 

 imagine

that I am rich

Rich of life

Rich of gift

The one who can give

Give a dream of life

Golden with the sound of

the unknown

An ocean of secrets

to share

So I live and so I dream

So I hear and so I think

I will greet the sun again

Forough Farokhazad One of the most influential female poets from Iran. 1935-1967 I will greet the sun again

I am sending my greetings to the sun, To the tender river that filled my veins, To the raining clouds that carried my long dreams And to the sore aging of poplar trees in the yard: They escorted me in all visits of dried times. I am sending my greetings to the crowd of crows: They always brought me the fresh perfume of nights’ crops. And to my mother who stayed in the mirror, And looked like my aged face. My greetings to the earth, The earth that the thrill of repeating me, was cramming beneath its aroused inside, by green seeds. I will come, I will come, I will arrive. With my curls: the winged scent of the soil With my eyes: the bright insight of the night And I will bring all flowers I picked from the other side of the wall. I will come, I will come, I will arrive. And then the gates will be invaded by love, And there, I will greet everybody who loves. And, I know: There will be a girl, still standing in front of the gates, those soaked gates in the deluge of love… I will greet her again as well.