<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=368082" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>R.t.s.l. (1917-1977)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As for that other thing<br>which comes when the eyelid is glazed<br>and the wax gleam<br>from the unwrinkled forehead<br>asks no more questions<br>of the dry mouth,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">whether they open the heart like a shirt<br>to release a rage of swallows,<br>whether the brain<br>is a library for worms,<br>on the instant of that knowledge<br>of the moment<br>when everything became so stiff,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">so formal with ironical adieux,<br>organ and choir,<br>and I must borrow a black tie,<br>and at what moment in the oration<br>shall I break down and weep -<br>there was the startle of wings<br>breaking from the closing cage<br>of your body, your fist unclenching<br>these pigeons circling serenely<br>over the page,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and,<br>as the parentheses lock like a gate<br>1917 to 1977,<br>the semicircles close to form a face,<br>a world, a wholeness,<br>an unbreakable O,<br>and something that once had a fearful name<br>walks from the thing that used to wear its name,<br>transparent, exact representative,<br>so that we can see through it<br>churches, cars, sunlight, <br>and the Boston Common,<br>not needing any book.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Derek+Walcott">Derek Walcott</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=368082" data-title="R.t.s.l. (1917-1977) de Derek Walcott" data-description="As for that other thing which comes when the eyelid is glazed and the wax gleam from the unwrinkled forehead asks no more questions of the dry mouth, whether they open the heart like a shirt to release a rage of swallows, whether the brain is a l..."></div> </div> </div>

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