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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=429705" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Saturday Night in the Parthenon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tiny green birds skate over the surface of the room.<br>A naked girl prepares a basin with steaming water,<br>And in the corner away from the hearth, the red wheels<br>Of an up-ended chariot slowly turn.<br>After a long moment, the door to the other world opens<br>And the golden figure of a man appears. He stands<br>Ruddy as a salmon beside the niche where are kept<br>The keepsakes of the Prince of Earth; then sadly, drawing<br>A hammer out of his side, he advances to an oaken desk,<br>And being careful to strike in exact fury, pounds it to bits.<br>Another woman has by now taken her station<br>Beside the bubbling tub.<br>Her legs are covered with a silken blue fur,<br>Which in places above the knees<br>Grows to the thickness of a lion's mane.<br>The upper sphere of her chest<br>Is gathered into huge creases by two jeweled pins.<br>Transparent little boots reveal toes<br>Which an angel could want.<br>Beneath her on the floor a beautiful cinnamon cat<br>Plays with a bunch of yellow grapes, running<br>Its paws in and out like a boy being a silly king.<br>Her voice is round and white as she says:<br>'Your bath is ready, darling. Don't wait too long.'<br>But he has already drawn away to the window<br>And through its circular opening looks,<br>As a man into the pages of his death.<br>'Terrible horsemen are setting fire to the earth.<br>Houses are burning ... the people fly before<br>The red spears of a speckled madness . . .'<br>'Please, dear,' interrupts the original woman,<br>'We cannot help them ... Under the cancerous foot<br>Of their hatred, they were born to perish -<br>Like beasts in a well of spiders ...<br>Come now, sweet; the water will get cold.'<br>A little wagon pulled by foxes lowers from the ceiling.<br>Three men are seated on its cushions which breathe<br>Like purple breasts. The head of one is tipped<br>To the right, where on a bed of snails, a radiant child<br>Is crowing sleepily; the heads of the other two are turned<br>Upward, as though in contemplation<br>Of an authority which is not easily apprehended.<br>Yet they act as one, lifting the baby from its rosy perch,<br>And depositing it gently in the tub.<br>The water hisses over its scream ... a faint smell<br>Of horror floats up. Then the three withdraw<br>With their hapless burden, and the tinny bark<br>Of the foxes dies on the air.<br>'It hasn't grown cold yet,' the golden figure says,<br>And he strokes the belly of the second woman,<br>Running his hands over her fur like someone asleep.<br>They lie together under the shadow of a giant crab<br>Which polishes its thousand vises beside the fire.<br>Farther back, nearly obscured by kettles and chairs,<br>A second landscape can be seen; then a third, fourth,<br>Fifth ... until the whole, fluted like a rose,<br>And webbed in a miraculous workmanship,<br>Ascends unto the seven thrones<br>Where Tomorrow sits.<br>Slowly advancing down these shifting levels,<br>The white Queen of Heaven approaches.<br>Stars glitter in her hair. A tree grows<br>Out of her side, and gazing through the foliage<br>The eyes of the Beautiful gleam - 'Hurry, darling,'<br>The first woman calls. 'The water is getting cold.'<br>But he does not hear.<br>The hilt of the knife is carved like a scepter<br>And like a scepter gently sways<br>Above his mutilated throat ...<br>Smiling like a fashionable hat, the furry girl<br>Walks quickly to the tub, and throwing off<br>Her stained gown, eels into the water.<br>The other watches her sorrowfully; then,<br>Without haste, as one would strangle an owl,<br>She flicks the wheel of the chariot - around<br>Which the black world bends ...<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;without thrones or gates, without faith,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;warmth or light for any of its creatures;<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;where even the children go mad - and<br>As though unwound on a scroll, the picture<br>Of Everyman's murder winks back at God.<br>Farther away now, nearly hidden by the human,<br>Another landscape can be seen ...<br>And the wan, smiling Queen of Heaven appears<br>For a moment on the balconies of my chosen sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Kenneth+Patchen">Kenneth Patchen</a><div class=q>
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<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=429705" data-title="Saturday Night in the Parthenon de Kenneth Patchen" data-description="Tiny green birds skate over the surface of the room.
A naked girl prepares a basin with steaming water,
And in the corner away from the hearth, the red wheels
Of an up-ended chariot slowly turn.
After a long moment, the door to the other world ope..."></div>
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