PERFECTION (in Sylvia Plath as I know Her)
Perfection is
my last resort.
How many failures
passes the day
without a note
of mind!
For only perfection
is caught up
by its
bright and glory;
only there I
breathe its
thin gold air.
And Ideas are nothing
but the knots
I make visible
in the blind web
of intellect.
There I make
my postponed
appointments
with
forthcoming
disappointments.
Come and know
that perfection
is the last resort
of nothingness.
Language slept
in me until
I once woke
in the grave
called grief.
I just have to
accept this
loss against
love and
everything
we talk about.
I have to
step out,
away like
the sorrow
that has
come.
Perfection is
my last resort.
How many failures
passes the day
without a note
of mind!
For only perfection
is caught up
by its
bright and glory;
only there I
breathe its
thin gold air.
And Ideas are nothing
but the knots
I make visible
in the blind web
of intellect.
There I make
my postponed
appointments
with
forthcoming
disappointments.
Come and know
that perfection
is the last resort
of nothingness.
Language slept
in me until
I once woke
in the grave
called grief.
I just have to
accept this
loss against
love and
everything
we talk about.
I have to
step out,
away like
the sorrow
that has
come.
Vastaukset
Vanhimmat
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