Poems by Denise Levertov

All Poems Original Poems Translations

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An Embroidery

Rose Red's hair is brown as fur

and shines in firelight as she prepares

supper of honey and apples, curds and whey,

for the bear, and leaves it ready

on the hearth-stone.

Rose White's grey eyes

look into the dark forest.

Rose Red's cheeks are burning,

Denise Levertov

Hymn To Eros

O Eros, silently smiling one, hear me.

Let the shadow of thy wings

brush me.

Let thy presence

enfold me, as if darkness

were swandown.

Let me see that darkness

lamp in hand,

Denise Levertov

Ikon: The Harrowing Of Hell

Down through the tomb's inward arch

He has shouldered out into Limbo

to gather them, dazed, from dreamless slumber:

the merciful dead, the prophets,

the innocents just His own age and those

unnumbered others waiting here

unaware, in an endless void He is ending

now, stooping to tug at their hands,

Denise Levertov

The Secret

Two girls discover

the secret of life

in a sudden line of

poetry.

I who don't know the

secret wrote

the line. They

told me

Denise Levertov

In Mind

There's in my mind a woman

of innocence, unadorned but

fair-featured and smelling of

apples or grass. She wears

a utopian smock or shift, her hair

is light brown and smooth, and she

is kind and very clean without

ostentation-

Denise Levertov

Sojourns In The Parallel World

We live our lives of human passions,

cruelties, dreams, concepts,

crimes and the exercise of virtue

in and beside a world devoid

of our preoccupations, free

from apprehension—though affected,

certainly, by our actions. A world

parallel to our own though overlapping.

Denise Levertov

Looking, Walking, Being

"The World is not something to

look at, it is something to be in."

Mark Rudman

I look and look.

Looking's a way of being: one becomes,

sometimes, a pair of eyes walking.

Walking wherever looking takes one.

The eyes

Denise Levertov

Seeing For A Moment

I thought I was growing wings—

it was a cocoon.

I thought, now is the time to step

into the fire—

it was deep water.

Eschatology is a word I learned

as a child: the study of Last Things;

facing my mirror—no longer young,

Denise Levertov

Aware

When I found the door

I found the vine leaves

speaking among themselves in abundant

whispers.

My presence made them

hush their green breath,

embarrassed, the way

humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,

Denise Levertov

The Thread

Something is very gently,

invisibly, silently,

pulling at me-a thread

or net of threads

finer than cobweb and as

elastic. I haven't tried

the strength of it. No barbed hook

pierced and tore me. Was it

Denise Levertov

Ein Baum Erzählt von Orpheus

Weißer Tagesanbruch. Stille. Als das Kräuseln begann,

hielt ich es für Seewind, in unser Tal kommend mit Raunen

von Salz, von baumlosen Horizonten. Aber der weiße Nebel

bewegte sich nicht; das Laub meiner Brüder blieb ausgebreitet,

regungslos.

Doch das Kräuseln kam näher – und dann

begannen meine eigenen äußersten Zweige zu prickeln, fast als wäre

ein Feuer unter ihnen entfacht, zu nah, und ihre Spitzen

Denise Levertov

In California During The Gulf War

Among the blight-killed eucalypts, among

trees and bushes rusted by Christmas frosts,

the yards and hillsides exhausted by five years of drought,

certain airy white blossoms punctually

reappeared, and dense clusters of pale pink, dark pink—

a delicate abundance. They seemed

like guests arriving joyfully on the accustomed

festival day, unaware of the year's events, not perceiving

Denise Levertov