Poésies de Margaret Atwood

usPoésie américaine


  • A Sad Child

    You're sad because you're sad.
    It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
    Go see a shrink or take a pill,

  • A Visit

    Gone are the days
    when you could walk on water.
    When you could walk.
    The days are gone.
    Only one day remains,


  • Backdropp Addresses Cowboy

    Starspangled cowboy
    sauntering out of the almost-
    silly West, on your face
    a porcelain grin,
    tugging a papier-mache cactus

  • Bored

    All those times I was bored
    out of my mind. Holding the log
    while he sawed it. Holding
    the string while he measured, boards,



  • Habitation

    Marriage is not
    a house or even a tent
    it is before that, and colder:
    The edge of the forest, the edge
    of the desert

  • Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing

    The world is full of women
    who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
    if they had the chance. Quit dancing.


  • In the Secular Night

    In the secular night you wander around
    alone in your house. It's two-thirty.
    Everyone has deserted you,
    or this is your story;

  • Is/Not

    Love is not a profession
    genteel or otherwise
    sex is not dentistry
    the slick filling of aches and cavities


  • More and More

    More and more frequently the edges
    of me dissolve and I become
    a wish to assimilate the world, including

  • Morning in the Burned House

    In the burned house I am eating breakfast.
    You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,
    yet here I am.


  • Night Poem

    There is nothing to be afraid of,
    it is only the wind
    changing to the east, it is only
    your father the thunder


  • Postcards

    I'm thinking about you. What else can I say?
    The palm trees on the reverse
    are a delusion; so is the pink sand.

  • Provisions

    What should we have taken
    with us? We never could decide
    on that; or what to wear,
    or at what time of


  • Sekhmet, the Lion-headed Goddess of War

    He was the sort of man
    who wouldn't hurt a fly.
    Many flies are now alive
    while he is not.
    He was not my patron.

  • Siren Song

    This is the one song everyone
    would like to learn: the song
    that is irresistible:
    the song that forces men

  • Spelling

    My daughter plays on the floor
    with plastic letters,
    red, blue & hard yellow,
    learning how to spell,


  • The City Planners

    Cruising these residential Sunday
    streets in dry August sunlight:
    what offends us is
    the sanities:

  • The Landlady

    This is the lair of the landlady
    She is
    a raw voice
    loose in the rooms beneath me.
    the continuous henyard

  • The Moment

    The moment when, after many years
    of hard work and a long voyage
    you stand in the centre of your room,

  • The Rest

    The rest of us watch from beyond the fence
    as the woman moves with her jagged stride
    into her pain as if into a slow race.

  • The Shadow Voice

    My shadow said to me:
    what is the matter
    Isn't the moon warm
    enough for you
    why do you need
    the blanket of another body

  • This is a Photograph of Me

    It was taken some time ago
    At first it seems to be
    a smeared
    print: blurred lines and grey flecks
    blended with the paper;


  • Variation On The Word Sleep

    I would like to watch you sleeping,
    which may not happen.
    I would like to watch you,
    sleeping. I would like to sleep

  • Variations on the Word Love

    This is a word we use to plug
    holes with. It's the right size for those warm
    blanks in speech, for those red heart-

  • Variations on the Word Sleep

    I would like to watch you sleeping,
    which may not happen.
    I would like to watch you,
    sleeping. I would like to sleep


  • You Fit Into Me

    You fit into me
    like a hook into an eye
    a fish hook
    an open eye