Aubade
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One of the most outlandish figures in modern British poetry, EDITH SITWELL (1887-1964) was the only daughter of a Yorkshire baronet. Along with her . . . MORE »
One of the most outlandish figures in modern British poetry, EDITH SITWELL (1887-1964) was the only daughter of a Yorkshire baronet. Along with her . . . MORE »
By Edith Sitwell
Jane, Jane,
Tall as a crane,
The morning light creaks down again;
Comb your cockscomb-ragged hair,
Jane, Jane, come down the stair.
Each dull blunt wooden stalactite
Of rain creaks, hardened by the light,
Sounding like an overtone
From some lonely world unknown.
But the creaking empty light
Will never harden into sight,
Will never penetrate your brain
With overtones like the blunt rain.
The light would show (if it could harden)
Eternities of kitchen garden,
Cockscomb flowers that none will pluck,
And wooden flowers that ’gin to cluck.
In the kitchen you must light
Flames as staring, red and white,
As carrots or as turnips, shining
Where the cold dawn light lies whining.
Cockscomb hair on the cold wind
Hangs limp, turns the milk’s weak mind. . . .
Jane, Jane,
Tall as a crane,
The morning light creaks down again!
Edith Sitwell, “Aubade” from The Collected Poems of Edith Sitwell. Copyright © 1968 by The Vanguard Press. Copyright 1949, 1953, 1954, © 1959, 1962, 1963 by Dame Edith Sitwell. Reprinted with the permission of David Higham Associates, Ltd.