Tuesday postimagism

If you read the biography of Hilda Doolittle you begin to understand why most of her lovers wanted to live with someone more peaceful: and, as for many “moderns” of the last century her fascination with Freud (who analysed her) led to involvement in the occult. She was one of the fouding imagists, but this poem is much later.

And I don’t think it could be writtne by anything but a grieving woman.

Hilda Doolittle (H.D.)


All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre as of olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.

All Greece reviles
the wan face when she smiles,
hating it deeper still
when it grows wan and white,
remembering past enchantments
and past ills.

Greece sees unmoved,
God’s daughter, born of love,
the beauty of cool feet
and slenderest knees,
could love indeed the maid,
only if she were laid,
white ash amid funereal cypresses.

H. D.