A Woman and Her Dead Husband - by D.H. Lawrence

    AH, stern cold man,
    How can you lie so relentless hard
    While I wash you with weeping water!
    Ah, face, carved hard and cold,
    You have been like this, on your guard
    Against me, since death began.
    You masquerader!
    How can you shame to act this part
    Of unswerving indifference to me?
    It is not you; why disguise yourself
    Against me, to break my heart,
    You evader?
    You've a warm mouth,
    A good warm mouth always sooner to soften
    Even than your sudden eyes.
    Ah cruel, to keep your mouth
    Relentless, however often
    I kiss it in drouth.
    You are not he.
    Who are you, lying in his pace on the bed
    And rigid and indifferent to me?
    His mouth, though he laughed or sulked
    Was always warm and red
    And good to me.
    And his eyes could see
    The white moon hang like a breast revealed
    By the slipping shawl of stars,
    Could see the small stars tremble
    As the heart beneath did wield
    Systole, diastole.
    And he showed it me
    So, when he made his love to me;
    And his brows like rocks on the sea jut out,
    And his eyes were deep like the sea
    With shadow, and he looked at me,
    Till I sank in him like the sea,
    Oh, he was multiform --
    Which then was he among the manifold?
    The gay, the sorrowful, the seer?
    I have loved a rich race of men in one --
    -- But not this, this never-warm
    Metal-cold -- !
    Ah, masquerader!
    With your steel face white-enamelled
    Were you he, after all, and I never
    Saw you or felt you in kissing?
    -- Yet sometimes my heart was trammelled
    With fear, evader!
    You will not stir,
    Nor hear me, not a sound.
    -- Then it was you --
    And all this time you were
    Like this when I lived with you.
    It is not true,
    I am frightened, I am frightened of you
    And of everything.
    O God! -- God too
    Has deceived me in everything,
    In everything.

Interesanta poezie. Totusi, interesanta e putin spus. Eu zic ca rezuma perfect egoismul. Iar ma leg de egoism, asta pentru ca este un subiect usor de atins. Si despre care se poate spune multe.
Apropo de poezie, mie mi se pare o descriere perfecta a unei relatii tipice. Totul incepe bine, in prima parte, totul e roz, frumos, inimioare. Cu timpul insa, tindem sa modelam persoana iubita, sa o facem sa fie pe placul nostru,iar facand asta , ne facem nefericiti si pe noi insine, si pe partenerul de viata, si pe cei din jur. Asta nu e neaparat bine. Cred ca o relatie e cu atat mai perfecta cu cat ambii parteneri se accepta asa cum sunt. Intr-adevar, unele lucruri pot sa fie modelate, dar mai bine lasam persoanele sa se schimbe dupa placul lor. Pentru ca daca o persoana iubeste cu adevarat, se schimba, iar de aici iar pot sa dezvolt o intreaga filozofie a Pestelui-Mort, dar nu ajung nicaieri.
Bun, revin la ideea de baza. Cred cu tarie ca pentru a fi fericit intr-un cuplu, trebuie sa ii acceptam pe parteneri/partenere asa cum sunt. Daca nu o facem, nu se ajunge nicaieri, nicaieri.

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