Etiketter: rude
posted by Pia Juul at tirsdag, november 18, 2008
Det er nat.Over himlens store rudeflyver ildflueri store sværme,mens svage lysskærknytter deres knuder
The conception is interesting: to see, as though reflectedIn streaming windowpanes, the look of others throughTheir own eyes. A digest of their correct impressions ofTheir self-analytical attitudes overlaid by yourGhostly transparent face. You in falbalasOf some distant but not too distant era, the cosmetics,The shoes perfectly pointed, drifting (how long youHave been drifting; how long I have too for that matter)Like a bottle-imp toward a surface which can never be approached,Never pierced through into the timeless energy of a presentWhich would have its own opinions on these matters,Are an epistemological snapshot of the processesThat first mentioned your name at some crowded cocktailParty long ago, and someone (not the person addressed)Overheard it and carried that name around in his walletFor years as the wallet crumbled and bills slid inAnd out of it. I want that information very much today,Can’t have it, and this makes me angry.I shall use my anger to build a bridge like thatOf Avignon, on which people may dance for the feelingOf dancing on a bridge. I shall at last see my complete faceReflected not in the water but in the worn stone floor of my bridge.I shall keep to myself.I shall not repeat others’ comments about me.
Åh
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3 Comments:
Det er nat.
Over himlens store rude
flyver ildfluer
i store sværme,
mens svage lysskær
knytter deres knuder
The conception is interesting: to see, as though reflected
In streaming windowpanes, the look of others through
Their own eyes. A digest of their correct impressions of
Their self-analytical attitudes overlaid by your
Ghostly transparent face. You in falbalas
Of some distant but not too distant era, the cosmetics,
The shoes perfectly pointed, drifting (how long you
Have been drifting; how long I have too for that matter)
Like a bottle-imp toward a surface which can never be approached,
Never pierced through into the timeless energy of a present
Which would have its own opinions on these matters,
Are an epistemological snapshot of the processes
That first mentioned your name at some crowded cocktail
Party long ago, and someone (not the person addressed)
Overheard it and carried that name around in his wallet
For years as the wallet crumbled and bills slid in
And out of it. I want that information very much today,
Can’t have it, and this makes me angry.
I shall use my anger to build a bridge like that
Of Avignon, on which people may dance for the feeling
Of dancing on a bridge. I shall at last see my complete face
Reflected not in the water but in the worn stone floor of my bridge.
I shall keep to myself.
I shall not repeat others’ comments about me.
Åh
Send en kommentar
<< Home