i'm in a lazy mood, but i got a lot of stuff done ^_^ started reading the dostoyevski that anna recommended - it's really good! the conrad (heart of darkness) is sitting on my desk right now, it's so short compared to the idiot (one-sixth the length!). i just don't know which one to choose...hehe sandra's in the middle of choosing between heart of darkness and mrs. dalloway, so depending on her choice (which kinda depends on my choice), i'll end up w/ one or the other for the eng. isu. but i found a nice sylvia plath poem called "the stones" for eng. lit. she had some really really really good poems, but they were long, so this one was perfect with its moderate length. enjoy! (or not...depending on if you like dark poems)
The Stones
Sylvia Plath
This is the city where men are mended.
I lie on a great anvil.
The flat blue sky-circle
Flew off like the hat of a doll
When I fell out of the light. I entered
The stomach of indifference, the wordless cupboard.
The mother of pestles diminished me.
I became a still pebble.
The stones of the belly were peaceable,
The head-stone quiet, jostled by nothing.
Only the mouth-hole piped out,
Importunate cricket
In a quarry of silences.
The people of the city heard it.
They hunted the stones, taciturn and separate,
The mouth-hole crying their locations.
Drunk as a foetus
I suck at the paps of darkness.
The food tubes embrace me. Sponges kiss my lichens away.
The jewelmaster drives his chisel to pry
Open one stone eye.
This is the after-hell: I see the light.
A wind unstoppers the chamber
Of the ear, old worrier.
Water mollifies the flint lip,
And daylight lays its sameness on the wall.
The grafters are cheerful,
Heating the pincers, hoisting the delicate hammers.
A current agitates the wires
Volt upon volt. Catgut stitches my fissures.
A workman walks by carrying a pink torso.
The storerooms are full of hearts.
This is the city of spare parts.
My swaddled legs and arms smell sweet as rubber.
Here they can doctor heads, or any limb.
On Fridays the little children come
To trade their hooks for hands.
Dead men leave eyes for others.
Love is the uniform of my bald nurse.
Love is the bone and sinew of my curse.
The vase, reconstructed, houses
The elusive rose.
Ten fingers shape a bowl for shadows.
My mendings itch. There is nothing to do.
I shall be good as new.
Steph snoozed @ 23.2.03 |
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