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Sword Blades & Poppy Seed
poppy seed   After Hearing a Waltz by Bartok
Amy Lowell
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       But why did I kill him? Why? Why?
         In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
       My ears rack and throb with his cry,
         And his eyes goggle under his hair,
         As my fingers sink into the fair
       White skin of his throat. It was I!
       I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
         I shook him until his red tongue
       Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
         Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
         With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
       The loose, heavy body in fear.
       Fear lest he should still not be dead.
         I was drunk with the lust of his life.
       The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
         And dabbled a chair. And our strife
         Lasted one reeling second, his knife
       Lay and winked in the lights overhead.
       And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
         When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
       And the wail of the violins stirred
         My brute anger with visions of her.
         As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
       Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.
       I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
         With that music, an infernal din,
       Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
         One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
         To his flesh when the violins, thin
       And straining with passion, grow stark.
       One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
         While she danced I was crushing his throat.
       He had tasted the joy of her, wound
         Round her body, and I heard him gloat
         On the favour. That instant I smote.
       One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!
       He is here in the room, in my arm,
         His limp body hangs on the spin
       Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
         Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
         Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
       Is red like his tongue lolling warm.
       One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
         He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
       As I drag him about in the swell
         Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
         The trumpets crash in through the door.
       One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.
       One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
         Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
       Of death! And so cramped is this place,
         I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
         Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
       He has covered my mouth with his face!
       And his blood has dripped into my heart!
         And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
       Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
         Of my body in tentacles. Through
         My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
       His dead body holds me athwart.
       One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
         One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
       One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
         Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
         One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
       Air! Give me air! Air! My God!