A warm and blustery night, with wind-torn showers and gusts hurling specks of rain onto my face as I lay in a bed that felt like a treehouse--
I drafted a poem yesterday, and now I know I have a purpose on earth that has nothing to do with driving carloads of unlicensed teenagers back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth.
I have been copying out Ted Hughes's collection Birthday Letters, which according to the jacket copy "are addressed, with just two exceptions, to Sylvia Plath . . . and written over a period of more than twenty-five years." A book reviewer led me to believe that these are bad poems, but he was wrong. They are heartbreaking and beautiful, though of course flawed, which is to say that the beauty shines through the rents and tears, which as far as I am concerned intensifies the heartbreak.
1 comment:
Sometimes I think that it is ONLY through the flaws that we can see the heartbreak and the beauty of anything. We had a discussion today with my 6th grade homeroom about the statement, "You bring your own weather to the parade!". they share amazing details about their lives, some of which are painful and yet they are so hopeful and shining.
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