No one left to call me Penelope,
mourned the old countess, on being informed of the death
of her last childhood friend. Did she sit long
in the drafty hall, thinking, That's it then,
nobody left but hangers-on and flunkeys,
why go on? Death can't help but look friendly
when all your friends live there, while more and more
each day's like a smoky party
where the music hurts and strangers insist that they know you
till you blink and smile and fade into the wall
and stare at your drink and take a book off the shelf
and close your eyes for a minute and suddenly
everyone you came in with has gone
and people are doing strange things in the corners.
No wonder you look at your watch
and say to no one in particular
If you don't mind, I think I'll go home now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well, I just read that Ms. Pollitt made a rude comment about Susan Sarandon, and since I have never heard of Ms. Pollitt, I thought I would read her wiki page, and then just had to read a poem of hers. I like it. She wouldn't like me, but I like this poem. I like the line like a smoky party where the music hurts....