Скачать или смотреть JOHN BERRYMAN reads "The Song of the Tortured Girl"

After a little I could not have told---
But no one asked me this---why I was there.
I asked. The ceiling of that place was high
And there were sudden noises, which I made.
I must have stayed there a long time today:
My cup of soup was gone when they brought me back.

Often "Nothing worse now can come to us"
I thought, the winter the young men stayed away,
My uncle died, and mother cracked her crutch.
And then the strange room where the brightest light
Does not shine on the strange men: shines on me.
I feel them stretch my youth and throw a switch.

Through leafless branches the sweet wind blows
Making a mild sound, softer than a moan;
High in a pass once where we put our tent,
Minutes I lay awake to hear my joy.
--- I no longer remember what they want. --
Minutes I lay awake to hear my joy.

~

From "John Berryman Collected Poems, 1937-1971"