Poem of the month: Heat
July’s poem is by H.D.
On the first of every month, I send a poem to a random, and ever-expanding, group of past and present colleagues. I’ve been doing it for about 16 years.
This month’s is Heat, by H.D. (Hilda Doolittle), from her first collection, Sea Garden, published in 1916.
O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air—
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat—
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.
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