Through portico of my elegant house you stalk
With your wild furies, disturbing garlands of fruit
And the fabulous lutes and peacocks, rending the net
Of all decorum which holds the whirlwind back.
Now, rich order of walls is fallen; rooks croak
Above the appalling ruin; in bleak light
Of your stormy eye, magic takes flight
Like a daunted witch, quitting castle when real days break.
Fractured pillars frame prospects of rock;
While you stand heroic in coat and tie, I sit
Composed in Grecian tunic and psyche-knot,
Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic:
Which such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate,
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?
Sylvia Plath
Ruins Upon Ruins
That both of us
hath wrought
Into
our elegant
house
I walked
by invitation
only
Whirlwinds
wild fury
I say did
we both
Nought did I
so solemnly
speak
nor wish to
unfold
to thee
That which all now
have privy to see
agreed
The birds
all there
colors
fashion
still hold
yet he
himself
through
peace
choose to
speak
unto me
I know
If a child
I was
and thou
bewitched
me so
you did
then there
the right you
gave to me
The right called
love
I spent upon
thee
For untruthful told
words found
in time
Would soon
have both us
crying
Yet unto the two
of us through
light
we still keep
trying
A tragedy
is not that
of which I
seek
but
simple
understanding
made upon
peace
Estate bankrupt
as so
spoken by
you
can just as
easily be
respune again
diplomacy
in words
doth bring
Intertwined
the two again
saith you
Speak the
truth
pray tell
to all
It doth
end well
repose
Think good
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem