Dear Ghunk:
I'm afraid, I like the old man better than this foolish, self-pitying young fool.
I don't know if even the maggot's curative powers is enough to help you, you may have already declined into the unreachable depths of darkest decay.
I noticed you didn't include Donne in your scathing, contemptuous tirade against the metaphysical poets? Maybe, you feel Donne is the original, mysterious deep thinker of the metaphysical world. That behind all of the eroticism in his poetry, he was communicating some deep, metaphysical, spiritual reality? That his eroticism was merely a metaphor for that spiritual "reality"?
Mmmm, or, was it the other way round?
Silence, it is golden, lies quivering, stretched tight like a rubber band. Waiting, to be broken,.........
The beginning of a poem that has no middle, no ending..
0;-}
Carol |
