incommunicado

• bir sylvia plath şiiri:
  
  the groundhog on the mountain did not run
  but fatly scuttled into the splayed fern
  and faced me, back to a ledge of dirt, to rattle
  her sallow rodent teeth like castanets
  against my leaning down, would not exchange
  for that wary clatter sound or gesture
  of love : claws braced, at bay, my currency not hers.
  
  such meetings never occur in marchen
  where love-met groundhogs love one in return,
  where straight talk is the rule, whether warm or hostile,
  which no gruff animal misinterprets.
  from what grace am i fallen. tongues are strange,
  signs say nothing. the falcon who spoke clear
  to canacee cries gibberish to coarsened ears.