From Four Till Seven Comments

in the manly society once woman had no rights to live independently or love liberally through full heart of emotion; but nowadays it has been changed yard to yard, bar to bar, port to port, country to country; now it's the time to raise the voice of equality

Only don't torture me so, If you hurt me I'll forgive! From four till seven o'clock I endlessly grieve.....it's a pathetic expression of a woman who loved the man heart but entrapped in the thorns of Iust in the four to seven o'clock hour in the cage of cruel manly character; yes; in the manly society once woman had no rights to live independently or love liberally through full heart of emotion;

'If you hurt me I'll forgive! From four till seven o'clock I endlessly grieve.' - Such a sad, somber poem!

Profoundly classic, deserves to be POD

Everybody is cruel in the dusk, Don't go to people - they'll lie. Fingers have wound into a knot The kerchief. very good poem. tony

CONGRATULATIONS Classic POD

" Grieve" of love and life! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

Beautiful lines.. Everybody is cruel in the dusk, Don't go to people - they'll lie. Fingers have wound into a knot Thanks poet.

During the interval of four to seven the day runs downhill, sloping toward night. It is hard to have a new beginning during this time of day. She realizes that she has fallen into a pattern in her relations with men. Her men-friends are flawed individuals who lash out at her.

Very penetrating! Great!

From four till seven o'clock I endlessly grieve. A heartfelt poem. Very well penned!

From four to seven Every body is cruel in the dusk. A poem throwing light on despondency and sadness. A great classic indeed.

In the depth of the Russian soul lies a somber sadness.

Everybody is cruel in the dusk, Don't go to people - they'll lie. Fingers have wound into a knot The kerchief. I want to cry... sad experiences of life. pictured. tony

Very apt and insightful. ' fingers have wound into a knot, the kerchief. I want to cry'. Deserving of POD.

Endlessly grieve - Life, great write

This is such a broken poem. It's as if Marina could not hone her thoughts into a coherent pattern but still HAD to write. As she says at the end, she is writing from four to seven probably in a feverish state. When she writes that her fingers are twisting the scarf, I shudder at what could be her premonition of her suicide. Marina corresponded with Rilke in the last years of his life, and in one letter she told him, YOU ARE NOT JUST A GREAT POET, Y0U ARE POETRY ITSELF.How generous. And we today look at her in the same way, MARINA, YOU ARE POETRY ITSELF.

Love this one. Great poem! Well written.

hurt by a man.... withdrawn.... untrusting. Too many women like this. Guessing her free time each day was between four and seven, spent in dire loneliness...

Perhaps the poet felt loneliness between four and seven, and thought it would be better to remain apart from people for it may lie like this thanks