quinta-feira, 21 de janeiro de 2010

Retrato de uma senhora

"The rented Beacon Hill flat gives our summer free peace. I write here, because i am paralyzed everywhere else. Compulsive. As if in reaction to the dance, the tarentella of the teaching year, my mind shuts against knowledge, study: I fritter gliddery - pick up this and that, wipe a dish, stir up some mayonnaise, jump at the imagined note of the mailman's whistle above the roar of traffic. I am disappointed with my poems: they pall. I have only a few over 25 and want a solid forty. I have distanct subjects. I haven´t opened my experience up. I keep discarding and discarding. My mind is barren of ideas and i must scavenge themes as a magpie must: scraps and oddments. I feel paltry, wanting in richness. Fearfull, inadequate desperate."