By CHARLES REZNIKOFF
The clouds, piled in rows like merchandise,
become dark; lights are lit in the lofts;
the milliners, tacking bright flowers on straw shapes,
say, glancing out of the windows,
it is going to snow;
and soon they hear the snow scratching the panes.
By night it is high on the sills.
The snow fills up the footprints
in the streets, the ruts of wagons and of motor trucks.
Except for the whir of the car
brushing the tracks clear of snow,
the streets are hushed.
At closing time, the girls breathe deeply
the clean air of the streets
sweet after the smell of merchandise.
The snow fills up the footprints
in the streets, the ruts of wagons and of motor trucks.
Except for the whir of the car
brushing the tracks clear of snow,
the streets are hushed.
At closing time, the girls breathe deeply
the clean air of the streets
sweet after the smell of merchandise.
3 comments:
Whant do you think the starts whith the winter?. I had to read the author's life, this poeme for my is the life of very day
The tone of writing is beautiful and yet very sad.
this poetry is very difficult for me, but I feel it is sad. I hope, so of course, the correctly understand! (the phrase is translated by google translator ... jeje)
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