Heat, by H. D.

4 February 2012

One of the intentions of my resolution is to discover work that I wouldn’t otherwise have read, often by poets I am new to. Whilst I will enjoy enjoy immersing myself in particular voices as I work through volumes, I’m also looking to pick up recommendations, go and taste some new things, which the internet makes very easy indeed. This week a friend recommended that I look at some work by H. D., who, on my initial reading, seems like she would always have got her five a day.

Today is a cold day, and a still one, and while the conditions described below feel distant indeed, the strength of the voice that is necessary to berate the stifling air has something in common with today’s incisive cold.


O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air–
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat–
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.

[Ripped from poets.org]

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