Chapter 3 Chapter two

In my wild youth there was a time Somehow I doubt the well-known The truth about the resurrection after death: Only I know nothing, It's a big conspiracy, People and books hid this truth from me. Then one day I began to doubt people's sanity Sober: how can he live without knowing for sure What beginning awaits his perception, What kind of doom, what kind of death? And finally the sleepless night, I resolved to probe the evil, The unacceptable abyss, to fight against it, Dedicate my rough life to This is the only task.Today I am sixty-one years old.even sparrow Peck at the nuts.A grasshopper sings alone.

The little pair of scissors I hold in my hand is A dazzling composite of sun and stars. I stand at the window and start pruning my fingernails, dimly aware A certain cringeworthy resemblance: the thumb resembles We grocer's son, index finger exactly like in college The lean and brooding astronomer Stavo Blue; The fellow in the middle, a tall priest I know; The woman's fourth finger, a coquettish old coquette; And the pink little finger is attached to her dress. While making weird faces, I cut them off one by one. The thin membrane Aunt Maud used to call "the epidermis."

Aunt Maud turns eighty, her life suddenly It was silent.We see the paralyzing A surge of rage and twist hits Her noble cheeks.we send her to Nursing home known for Pinewood Valley.she will sit in front of the glass window sunbathing, staring at the flies On her clothes, it flew onto her wrist. Her memory fades into a growing fog. She can also spit out, pause, explore, find That sound at first seemed a serviceable phrase, However, the charlatan in the adjacent cell took away The words she needs that place, she side Stitching out a pleading expression, while trying in vain Try to argue with those monsters in your head.

In this gradual decay, When will the resurrection be chosen?which year?which month? Does anyone have a race chronograph?Who's going to rewind the tape? Who is unlucky, or can everyone escape? A syllogism: Others die; and I Not another; therefore I shall not die. Space is a dense swarm of eyes; time is The sound of singing in the ears.In this hive, I locked it up firmly.But if we were born before Can imagine earthly life, it must seem How crazy, how unbelievable, Unspeakably grotesque, grotesquely absurd! So why join in people's vulgar goofy laughs? Why mock life after death that no one can prove:

That Turkish delight, those future harps, That talk with Socrates and Proust's walk on the Boulevard, The seraphim with the wings of the fire phoenix, And that Flemish hell with porcupines and the like? It's not that our imagination is too absurd and bizarre: The difficulty is that we haven't made it appear that Unlikely; in general, we probably All that comes to mind is a ghost in the family. How absurd, Such an attempt to turn a public fate into a private whisper! Instead of turning it into sacred and succinct poetry, Incoherent notes, excellent rhyme for insomniacs!

Life is a message scribbled in the dark! Anonymous question. On the day she died, we Spied on the bark of a pine tree on the way home A green shell, round as a toad's eye, clings to the trunk, and its sister, An ant stuck to a gum. That Brit in Nice, A pompous and joyous linguist: Je nourris Les pauvres cigales – meaning to say He feeds those poor seagulls! La Fontaine was wrong: What dies is the lip and jaw, what lives is the song. So I trim my nails, meditate, and listen The sound of your footsteps upstairs, all is well, my dear. Sybil, in our middle school days, I have always admired your dignity and beauty,

But on a group outing in high school During that time at Newway Falls, I fell deeply in love with you.We sat on the wet grass and had lunch. geography teacher talking That pouring Pentium waterfall.its roar and rainbows Make that gentle park atmosphere romantic. In the April mist I lay leaning behind your slender back, Watching your neat little head slanted to one side. A palm with five fingers apart, Between a star-shaped trillium and a stone, Press on the turf.a petite phalanx Constantly twisting.Then you turn around and let me drink A sip of metallic and clear tea. Your image hasn't changed, that pursed lips and nibbled

The crystal teeth of vermilion lips; the shadow under the eyes of long eyelashes; Pink-faced peach cheeks; combed from the temples and nape Dark brown hair; that fair neck; The handsome nose and eyebrows of the Persian face, You're all perfectly preserved— On those quiet nights, the two of us Listen to the roar of the waterfall in silence. Come to be admired, come to be caressed, My dark Vanessa, with crimson lines, my holy, My enviable butterfly!explain How could you be in the twilight of Lilac Lane let the clumsy and hysterical john shade Tears wet your cheeks, ear tips and shoulder blades?

We have been married for forty years.have at least Four thousand times our heads have crumpled your pillow. 400,000 times that grandfather clock played something like The rough chime of Westminster's Big Ben, Tell me about the hours we shared.how many more A free annual calendar will brighten that kitchen door? I love you when you stand on the lawn and stare at When there is something in the tree: fly away. It is so small and exquisite.It will come back. (This whisper is softer than a kiss) I love you when you call me to watch the sunset over the sky, When a jet left a pink trail.

I love you when you're humming and tidying up A suitcase or something funny like that, When a car travel bag with a zip back and forth.I love you especially, When you nod morosely to meet her ghost, Holding her first toy in her hand, or staring, When I found an old postcard she sent back from the book. She must be you, me, or some odd combination: Nature chose me to torture and tear Your heart and mine.At first we both would smile and say: "little girls are chubby" or jem mcweeigh (family ophthalmologist) will heal her soon Slight squint. ’ Then: ‘You know, She'll be pretty"; trying to soften that

Growing Distress: "It's Early Puberty." "She should go to riding lessons," you say again (your eyes and mine did not meet), "she should learn to fight Tennis or badminton.Eat less starch, eat more fruit! She may not be a beauty, but she is lovely. " It doesn't work, it doesn't work.those from french and history classes The Excellence Award he got was undoubtedly won by playing around; The games at the Christmas party were obviously much tougher, A shy little guest is bound to be excluded; Should it be fair: children her age Played the pixie fairy in the scene she had assisted Drawing sets for the pantomime stage of school performances, And my gentle maiden is disguised as a time crone, A stooping maid with broom and slop bucket, I hid in the men's room alone, whimpering and sobbing like a fool. Another winter spent eradicating embarrassment. In May, white nymphs often haunt our woods. Summer lets the power mower mow; fall is full of fiery emotion. Alas, the pickled cygnet never became A forest mandarin duck.It's your voice again: This is prejudice!She is innocent, You deserve to rejoice.Why are you always emphasizing meter?She likes to look sloppy. Virgos have written some brilliant works. Love isn't everything.good looking Then absolutely must! "However, Pan still calls from every radiant mountain, The pity spirits in us still talk: No one's lips will touch the lipstick on her cigarette; Before the dance, the Sorosa girls' dormitory building, The phone rings every two minutes, But no one will call her to invite; The tires hissed to a stop on the gravel road, On that fine night, a male companion in a white scarf, Walking to the door, but never coming to find her; She never went to the ball, that dream of wearing tulle and jasmine. We then sent her to a villa in France for a vacation. But she encountered new setbacks, new embarrassments, Crying and returning home.in that college town In those days all roads lead to places of joy, She would sit on the library steps reading or knitting, Alone, or room with the frail good, Now a nun, stay together; another time or two With a Korean boy who took a class I taught. She had queer fears, queer fancies, An eccentric strength of character—as she had Spend three dark nights probing for some sound and light, In an old barn she likes to spell English words upside down: the teapot becomes the pinnacle, The spider becomes an ice cream cone: "Flavour" becomes a "red-haired Italian". She calls you a preaching katydid. She smiles seldom, and once in a while, It is a sign of pain.she will lash out our plan.His eyes were blank and expressionless, sat on her tossing bunk, stretched out Two cystic feet with nails scattered with silver shavings Scratching her head, whimpering, Muttering dreadful words monotonously. She's my darling: grumpy, sullen and withdrawn— But she's still my baby.you must remember those Nearly calm night, we're playing Mahjong, or she tries on your fur coat, which makes her Almost charming; even the mirrors smile, The light is kind and generous, and the shadows are soft. Sometimes I help her read a Latin text, Or she would read in her bedroom, next to my florescent-lit den, and you'll In your study, twice as far from me as she is, From time to time I can hear the two of you talking: "Mom, what do you mean by a gloomy column?" "What do you mean by that?" "Gloomy column." Pause, followed by your careful interpretation.Then again: "Mom, what is Hades?" You will also explain this, There is also a sentence: "Do you want to eat a citrus?" "No. All right. But what does eternal life mean?" You hesitate.I yelled out the answer vigorously, The voice came from my desk through the closed door. It doesn't matter what she's reading, (Some shoddy modern poem in English literature is said to be "Thrilling and convincing" documentation -- meaning, no one cares); the problem is that These three rooms connected you, me and her together, Now it forms a three-fold screen or a three-act play, The events depicted in it will live forever. I think she's always harbored a little crazy wish. I have just recently finished my book on Pope. My typist Jane Dean intends to give her one day Introduced to meet her cousin Peter Dean. Jen's fiancé is willing to take them in his new car Go to a Hawaiian cafe twenty miles away. The boy was picked up at a quarter past eight in Newwick. The sleet had paved the road with a smooth, thin layer of ice. They finally found the place - Peter Dean Suddenly, he frowned and exclaimed, He completely forgot about a date with a buddy, If he doesn't go, that guy will go to jail, Etc., etc.She said she could understand it perfectly. After he left, three young men were there Standing blankly at the blue entrance for a moment. The puddles on the ground reflect strips of neon lights; She smiled and said she became a superfluous person I would rather go home.Two friends accompanied her to the the bus stop and left; she didn't go straight Return home by car, and get off at Laogong Cape. You look carefully at your wrist: "A quarter past eight. (The hands now fork.) I watch TV. " The brothy pale screen gradually reveals a vivid smudge, Music poured out. He glanced at her, Then he turned and shot a death ray at the well-meaning Jane. A male employee, from Florida to Maine, Pursue the crooked arrow shot from the Battle of Aeolus. You say there will be a tiresome quartet later, Two writers and two critics will be on channel eight Debating the career of poetry.At the ceremony of the Spring Festival, A nymph, under whirling clusters of white petals, Come and bow on your toes Before an altar in the woods, There are all kinds of bathroom daily necessities piled up in the forest. I went upstairs to review the strip proofs, Listen to the sound of wind and stones on the roof. "Look at the blind beggar dancing and the lame singing" It clearly has the vulgar sentiment of that ridiculous era. next you From the aisle up, my gentle parrot calls. I heard in time the short eulogy, Also have a cup of tea with you: my name Mentioned twice, as always, by just (Mud step) To line up after Frost. "You really don't care? I'll catch the exton flight cause you know If I didn't hurry up at midnight with that cash—" What follows is a kind of travel documentary: A host leads us through The mist of a night in March, near and far, The foremast light of the ship is like an expanding star, Near the sea of ​​green, indigo, and tawny, We met in 1933, nine months before she was born, Visited there.Now everything is a passing cloud, Everything is blurred, and I can hardly remember the first time The long walk, the constant light, The flock of sails (a blue sail among the white sails) It is not in harmony with the sea color monster, and the other two are red sails), The man, in the blazer, crunches bread, The swarm of seagulls was so loud and deafening. A gray pigeon waddled among them. "Is the phone ringing?" You listened attentively by the door. nothing.Pick up the TV listings from the floor. More foremast lights appeared in the mist, It's no use wiping the windows: only a glance at Exposed white fence and reflective light post outdoors. "Can we guarantee she's behaving properly?" you ask. "Strictly speaking, of course, this is only the first meeting of the two parties. Alright, shall we watch a preview of "Remorse"? " So we calmly let that business card Unfolds its big tent that seems to be protected by magic; Famous faces emerge, white and stupid: Those parted lips, those watery eyes, That mole on the cheek, strangely French in style, And that soft body blends in The brilliant yearning shared by all people. "I think," she said, "Just get off here." "This is only Laogong Cape." "I know, it's okay." She grabbed the railing and stared at Spooky forest.The bus stops and disappears. Thunder rumbled in the sky above the mang forest. "No, don't watch this!" Our special guest Pat Pink (Antiatom Talk). The clock strikes eleven.You sigh, well, I'm afraid not What a show to watch.You fiddle with that tuner: The telco rang one after another, and the picture kept changing. Commercials give beheadings.Faces were brushed away. An open mouth, singing halfway up, was wiped away. An idiot with a black beard is about to use His gun, but your movements are really much faster than his. A cheerful black man held up his trumpet and was about to play.Turk. Your ruby ​​ring makes life and enforces the law. Oh, close it!With a snap, life is cut off, I saw the bright light gradually shrinking into a needle head and fading into the pitch black Infinite realm. Come out of the wooden shed by the lake A caretaker, Old Man Time, gray-haired and hunchbacked, with his restless dog, along the Walk along the reedy embankment.He came too late. You yawn softly and go to stack your plate. We hear the wind, we hear the wind blowing the branches To the glass window.The phone rings?is not. I'll help you put away the saucer.the grandfather clock It is constantly destroying the young shoots and roots, the firm foundation. "It's midnight," you say.What does midnight mean to young people? A holiday flash suddenly Across the five cedar trees, projected directly, the white flowers are shining brightly, A police car from our bumpy trail Coming at a fast speed, the brakes squeaked.Retake!Retake! She is thought to have tried to cross the lake beyond Cape Labor; Interested skaters, on particularly cold days, From time to time, I would skate on the lake from Aix to Wey. It was also speculated that she must have lost her way in a daze, turned left from Bridge Road; while someone else said She killed her poor young life.I know.You understand that. It was a night of thaw, a night of high winds, There was commotion in the air.black spring, In the wet starlight, on the wet ground, Just stood there in the corner, trembling. The lake lay in mist, half covered with ice. A vague figure rises from the reedy bank, Step into a crackling, gobbling swamp and sink.