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7.0
/10
(12
votes)
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I had grieved. I had wept for a night and a day
over my loss, ripped the cloth I was married in
from my breasts, howled, shrieked, clawed
at the burial stones until my hands bled, retched
his name over and over again, dead, dead.
Gone home. Gutted the place. Slept in a single cot,
widow, one empty glove, white femur
in the dust, half. Stuffed dark suits
into black bags, shuffled in a dead man's shoes,
noosed the double knot of a tie around my bare neck,
gaunt nun in the mirror, touching herself. I learnt
the Stations of Bereavement, the icon of my face
in each bleak frame; but all those months
he was going away from me, dwindling
to the shrunk size of a snapshot, going,
going. Till his name was no longer a certain spell
for his face. The last hair on his head
floated out from a book. His scent went from the house.
The will was read. See, he was vanishing
to the small zero held by the gold of my ring.
Then he was gone. Then he was legend, language;
my arm on the arm of the schoolteacher-the shock
of a man's strength under the sleeve of his coat-
along the hedgerows. But I was faithful
for as long as it took. Until he was memory.
So I could stand that evening in the field
in a shawl of fine air, healed, able
to watch the edge of the moon occur to the sky
and a hare thump from a hedge; then notice
the village men running towards me, shouting,
behind them the women and children, barking dogs,
and I knew. I knew by the sly light
on the blacksmith's face, the shrill eyes
of the barmaid, the sudden hands bearing me
into the hot tang of the crowd parting before me.
He lived. I saw the horror on his face.
I heard his mother's crazy song. I breathed
his stench; my bridegroom in his rotting shroud,
moist and dishevelled from the grave's slack chew,
croaking his cuckold name, disinherited, out of his time.
Carol Ann Duffy
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Comments about this poem (Mrs Lazarus
by
Carol Ann Duffy
) |
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Click here to write your
comments about this poem (Mrs Lazarus by
Carol Ann Duffy
)
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Is It poetry
(5/3/2009 6:51:00 PM) |
The smoke hides
more than gales
to shrieking wind
in bogs of peat
unfelt the chill is
heats pale pefume
lost face
upon this skin..iip
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Suzie Bishop
(4/23/2009 6:36:00 PM) |
Duffy is ALWAYS my favourite poet. The world's wife is sumptious; such a pleasure to see the woman's perspective on some of the worlds 'greatest' men. Always insightful, touching and witty. Wonderful wonderful stuff.
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Fred Babbin
(12/29/2007 8:58:00 PM) |
Of course, this is most professional.
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Freedom For China
(2/17/2007 6:12:00 PM) |
Thanks for having the noble part in deconstructing and destroying humanities traditions and religions, now you feel lost and scared, well done!
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Zofia Skrakowski
(2/6/2007 4:12:00 PM) |
Fantastic poem, but just the tip of the ice-berg of the collection The World's Wife.
We should be able to view more of Duffy's poems. Why can't each user submit works of their favourite poets?
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Velvet Orchid
(11/7/2006 10:29:00 AM) |
http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carol_Ann_Duffy
She is an amazing poet but I doubt she will read this or post her own poems up here would be nice though.
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Joe Breunig
(7/23/2006 9:08:00 PM) |
A clever and interpretive write; had never considered the possibility that Lazarus was married at the time of his original death.
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Anna Russell
(7/23/2006 5:36:00 PM) |
I think I'm speechless (no mean feat, I can tell you) . Have a 10 and write more soon.
Hugs
Anna xxx
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Séamus Fox
(7/23/2006 4:52:00 PM) |
I can not even begin to tell you how beautiful this language is.
Séamus
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