Anne Pennington

Until her last breath she enlarges
Her Oxford house
Built in Slavonic
Vowels and consonants

She polishes the corner-stones
Until their Anglo-Saxon shine
Begins to sing

Her death is like a short breath-stop
Under the distant limetrees of her friends


Trans. by Peter Jay, Anthony Rudolf, and Daniel Weissbort


Anonymous submission.

Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.