Autobiography In The Year 1952
Around me my father built a huge care
like a shipyard
And then I went forth from it and I was
And he was left with his huge and empty
And my mother—like a tree on the shore
between her arms stretched out after me.
And in the year ’31 my hands were merry
And in the year ’41 they learned to use a
And when I loved my first love
My thoughts were like a burst of colored
And a pale girl’s hand held them all
On a fine thread—and afterwards let them
And in the year ’51 the movement of
Was like the movement of many slaves
rowing a galley
And my father’s face was like a lantern at
the end of the receding train,
And my mother shut up all the many clouds
in her brown wardrobe.
And I climbed to the top of my street,
With the 20th century the blood in my
Blood that wanted to run out in many wars,
Through many openings,
And therefore it beats on my head from
And reaches the heart in angry waves.
But now, in the spring of ’52, I see
That more birds came back than left last
And I return down the hillside to my house
And in my room the woman, and her body
And full of time.