Letters from NYC

Black Rook in Rainy Weather

As I sat on the edge of the beach under cloudy/rainy skies this weekend, the following portions of Sylvia Plath's poem, 'Black Rook...', was whispered back into my memory via the wind.

On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain,
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent ...

Of whatever angel any choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear and pain,
and grant total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur.
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance
Miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,

For that rare, random descent.

-- Sylvia Plath

Posted by Michele at July 18, 2005 09:54 PM | TrackBack