Goethe in Rome
Gregory O'Donohue International Poetry Competition, Shortlisted (2018)
The fig tree breathes green flame
From its metal tip:
Ovid saw it, and Propertius,
And how the tortoise
Staggers, spring-drunk,
Across the grass
To mount a sleeping dog.
Lemons shine
In the tiny garden
Like a hundred yellow moons,
Morning glory binds itself
To every upright thing:
If I stay here longer it
Will bind itself to me.
When will Faustina come
And wrap her thighs
Around my head
And bid me eat?
All creation sings or barks
Or crows ‘I am here!’
And it is so,
Yet Saxony lies under snow.
From its metal tip:
Ovid saw it, and Propertius,
And how the tortoise
Staggers, spring-drunk,
Across the grass
To mount a sleeping dog.
Lemons shine
In the tiny garden
Like a hundred yellow moons,
Morning glory binds itself
To every upright thing:
If I stay here longer it
Will bind itself to me.
When will Faustina come
And wrap her thighs
Around my head
And bid me eat?
All creation sings or barks
Or crows ‘I am here!’
And it is so,
Yet Saxony lies under snow.
