Wild Feminine

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29 Απριλίου 2016 Comments (0) Views: 1033 Library

Poetry of April

S. Eliot (1888–1965) | The Waste Land |1922

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s,

My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,

And I was frightened. He said, Marie,

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.

In the mountains, there you feel free.

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.


There is always the possibility

of reinvention
sometimes born of longing

sometimes offered faintly,

like birdsong in your ear

born of pain.
Life is long for a reason.

So that every chapter swells

with a new chapter of us,
so there is time to change

the meaning of your name

to everyone around you,

and especially

to you.
When the name that once meant

tired girl comes to mean

she who rose again,
–then art 

I met a woman

whose house burned down

and in the ashes

she found the blaze of her self.
Now it roars

still angry, sometimes uncontrolled,

always a blinding light.
If you see her on the street,

bow to her courage.

Stare back into her flickering animal eyes,

and know, she is fighting a fight.
-Tara Sophia Mohr

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