Canção da rapariga loucamente apaixonada / "Mad Girl's Love Song"

 

s.id.

Mad Girl's Love Song

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Sylvia Plath 

A escrita enquanto acto religioso / Writing is a religious act

Fernando Vicente

Writing is a religious act: it is an ordering, a reforming, a relearning and reloving of people and the world as they are and as they might be.

People read it: react to it as to a person, a philosophy, a religion, a flower: they like it, or do not. It helps them, or it does not. It feels to intensify living: you give more, probe, ask, look, learn and shape this: you get more monsters, answers, color and form, knowledge.

 

The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

via awritersruminations