Sat, 8 Aug 1998 00:50:17 +0200
- Message No. 3713
From: s.burlando@areacom.it (Stefania Burlando)
Subject: The Unsettled Motorcyclist's vision of his Death
Across the open countryside ,
Into the walls of rain I ride .
It beats my cheek, drenches my knees,
But I am being what I please .
The firm heath stops, and marsh begins .
Now we're at war : whichever wins
My human will cannot submit
To nature, though brought out of it .
The wheels sink deep ; the clear sound blurs :
Still, bent on the handle-bars,
I urge my chosen instrument
Against the mere embodiment .
Though so oppressed I find I may
Through substance move . I pick my way,
Where death and life in one combine,
Through the dark earth that is not mine,
Crowded with fragments, blunt, unformed ;
While past my ear where noises swarmed
The marsh plant's white extremities,
Slow without patience, spread at ease
Invulnerable and soft, extend
With a quiet grasping toward their end
(Thom Gunn , The Unsettled Motorcyclist's vision of his Death)
Ciao Sakis , my friend .
BEPPE
www@atic.org