Wind among prisms all tonight again:
Alone again, awake again in the Sufi's house,
Cumbered by this unexpiring love,
Jammed like a cartridge in the breech
Leaving the bed with its dented pillow,
The married shoes alert upon the floor.
Is life more than the sum of its errors?
Tubs of clear flesh, Egyptian women:
Favours, kohl, nigger's taste of seeds,
Pepper or lemon, breaking from one's teeth
Bifurcated as the groaning stalks of celery.
Much later comes the tapping on the panel.
The raven in the grounds:
At four thirty the smell of satin, leather:
Rain falling the mirror above the mad
Jumbled pots of expensive scent and fard,
And the sense of some great impending scandal.
(Lawrence Durrell, from 'The Anecdotes')
Александрийский квартет
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