But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.
Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them--
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
The the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.
Sylvia Plath
1 Comments:
Sylvia Plath;;;
που το ξετρύπωσες;
and the flowers have time for me
είναι μέρες τώρα που ο στίχος αυτός μου έχει γίνει εμμονή. έχει τρυπώσει κάπου μέσα στο μυαλό μου και δεν χάνει την ευκαιρία να αντιδιαστέλλεται με ότι διαβάζω, ακούω και -δυστυχώς- με ότι λέω...
//transport.motorways.tramlines.sentimentaldrivel.
bugInTheGround.shell smashed.
//άντε, έλα
//ευχαριστώ!
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