And if you want, read as well:
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven, by WB Yeats
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
I interpret this poem as trying to capture the vulnerability of love in human relationships. Perhaps the most difficult aspect of life on earth is vulnerability. Without vulnerability, we would all be floating above the ground-we wouldn't feel the rugged earth pushing back, reminding us we are bound by it, that we are mortal, that it is pushing back. Vulnerability makes loving another that much more powerful-because in giving to them, they are taking something so essential to your own life; your joy, your vitality, your renewed sense of purpose in being, possibility even your sanity.
We are vulnerable, and it is so beautiful but delicate and terrible at the same time.
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven, by WB Yeats
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
I interpret this poem as trying to capture the vulnerability of love in human relationships. Perhaps the most difficult aspect of life on earth is vulnerability. Without vulnerability, we would all be floating above the ground-we wouldn't feel the rugged earth pushing back, reminding us we are bound by it, that we are mortal, that it is pushing back. Vulnerability makes loving another that much more powerful-because in giving to them, they are taking something so essential to your own life; your joy, your vitality, your renewed sense of purpose in being, possibility even your sanity.
We are vulnerable, and it is so beautiful but delicate and terrible at the same time.
1 comment:
er.. "a bit overly dramatic." words written with passion should be read with passion. And have you actually read your own words. Pot? Kettle? Good for her! in any case i want to actually listen to a reading where someone does feel the words rather than notating them like theyre reading out a shopping list. I could do that myself! I think youve spotted something in her which you then spontaneously began to explore yourself. Your writing is heaps more dramatic than her reading. And good for you! Theres too much blah in the world, lets enjoy the beautiful words at least.. Thank you in any case for introducing me to this exciting talent. I write poetry and will beg steal and borrow to have my poems read with such truth, passion and tenderness. And you seem to have a flair there yourself.. Maybe you could collaborate..
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