Faun
Haunched like a faun, he hooed
From grove of moon-glint and fen-frost
Until all owls in the twigged forest
Flapped black to look and brood
On the call this man made.
No sound but a drunken coot
Lurching home along river bank.
Stars hung water-sunk, so a rank
Of double star-eyes lit
Boughs where those owls sat.
An arena of yellow eyes
Watched the changing shape he cut,
Saw hoof harden from foot, saw sprout
Goat-horns. Marked how god rose
And galloped woodward in that guise.
this is for the other Sue, because I know we will turn into the horned beast after hanging out at her birthday celebration all wee.
Plus I am really getting into Sylvia Plath's poetry. it is beautiful in word and thought.
Happy Birthday Sue. You survivor you.
Use this link to get back to Laurita's hosting
This is wonderful, thanks!
ReplyDeleteI so admire Plath.
ReplyDeleteDo you think that possibly this is an allegory for Ted Hughes?
The drunk rolling home in the moonlight coming from God knows where?
I wonder if there is any info on this.
Thank you to my Other Susan for the warm wishes and thoughts.
xoxo
this a wonderful poem lover her thanks susan
ReplyDeleteA new one to me. I really love the poem. Thanks, Susan!
ReplyDeleteI love Sylvia Plath. I was first introduced to her works in college in a psych class. The Bell Jar made me a fan.
ReplyDeleteSuch imagery in that poem, and a deep sadness, as well.
So descriptive! The woods can be scary at night..especially when goat horns appear!
ReplyDeleteI love the depth of emotion in this poem ... it is beautiful throughout.
ReplyDeleteThanks for choosing this one!
lol love the idea of ''turning into the horned beast after the birthday bash''.................surly not :-))
ReplyDeletelove this little poem, what great imagery in words.... ''an arena of yellow eyes''..........brilliant , thanks for this.