In Extremity

Love pecked a bloodfall in my heart from hopes

Hi all, I wanted to give you another poem this week! Next week there will be a new essay, so keep an eye out! The title of this poem comes from a line of Emily Dickinson’s famous “Hope is the thing with feathers.”

Read on desktop to preserve the line breaks!

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Prometheus Bound, Peter Paul Rubens (c. 1611-1612)

Love pecked a bloodfall in my heart from hopes
that dove upon it like a swoop of birds.
Prometheus’s eagle was less cruel:
its cruel appearance augured its cruel feast,
but mine were gentle-feathered, singing things,
cooing and trilling with a treble voice
that lulled me with longing. Pierced and martyred, chained
to the dull ache of this my rocky faith
(O Love!) and foundering, I gather strength
in pain. They steal the shadow of my self,
and yet the substance still remains, renewed
in phoenix fire and indurated, pure.
Come hopes, and come despairs, they cannot touch me,
however much they pluck in fruitless hunt.

Prometheus, Theodoor Rombouts (17th century)

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