Wherever in this city, screens flickerwith pornography, with science-fiction vampires, victimized hirelings bending to the lash, we also have to walk . . . if simply as we walkthrough the rainsoaked garbage, the tabloid crueltiesof our own neighborhoods. We need to grasp our lives inseperablefrom those rancid dreams, that blurt of metal, those disgraces, and the red begonia perilously flashingfrom a tenement sill six stories high, or the long-legged young girls playing ballin the junior highschool playground. No one has imagined us. We want to live like trees, sycamores blazing through the sulfuric air, dappled with scars, still exuberantly budding, our animal passion rooted in the city.
Adrienne RichAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: May 16, 1929
- Died: March 27, 2012
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Sometimes with the most intense pain a paralysis of sensibility occurs. The soul disintegrates--hence the deadly frost--the free power of the mind--the shattering, ceaseless wit of this kind of despair. There is no inclination for anything any more--the person is alone, like a baleful power--as he has no connection with the rest of the world he consumes himself gradually--and in accordance with his own principle he is--misanthropic and misotheos.
Novalis
