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16 Jun 99 - 08:53 AM (#87110) Subject: Thought for the Day (June 16) From: Peter T. DECEPTIONS "Of course I had been drugged, and so heavily I did not regain consciousness till the next morning, when I discovered that I had been ruined. I was inconsolable, and cried like a child to be killed, or sent back to my aunt." -- report of young woman from Mayhew's Report on the London Poor, 1840s. Even so distant, I can taste the grief, Bitter and sharp with stalks, he made you gulp. The sun's occasional print, the brisk brief Worry of wheels along the street outside Where bridal London bows the other way; And light, unanswerable, and tall and wide, Forbids the scar to heal, and drives Shame out of hiding. All the unhurried day Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives. Slums, years, have buried you. I would not dare Console you if I could. What can be said, Except that suffering is exact, but where Desire takes charge, readings will grow erratic? For you would hardly care That you were less deceived, out on that bed, Than he was, stumbling up the breathless stair To burst into fulfilment's desolate attic. --Philip Larkin. |
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16 Jun 99 - 12:03 PM (#87167) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day (June 16) From: Neil Lowe beautiful poem......sort of strikes a fatalistic/(taking the liberty to try some HTML stuff here- apologies offered in advance if it doesn't work) futilistic/nihilistic chord- beautiful nonetheless. |
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17 Jun 99 - 12:21 AM (#87307) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day (June 16) From: bseed(charleskratz) What's this--rapist suffers more than his victim? The crime is its own punishment? Is the poor boy feeling pangs of a guilty conscience? He was maybe expecting love and not just an orgasm? --seed |