Danse Russe
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
William Carlos Williams
posted by frillytoothpicks @ 9:09 AM
1 Comments:
I don't know where you find this stuff, but keep it comin!
Thanks,
Thirsty Brain
I like that although I lack the mechanics knowledge to break down every line, it still makes sense, even in my own little world.
I was once told that art, once created, is no longer the creators work. Whatever the intention, if there was one, it is lost to the future, to the interpretations of the many, where differing views share equal weight of impact. And I babble...
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