kavakli
02.03.2006, 09:43
THE BLUE-EYED GIANT, THE MINIATURE WOMAN AND THE HONEYSUCKLE
He was a blue-eyed giant,He loved a miniature woman.The woman's dream was of a miniature housewith a garden where honeysuckle grows in a riot of colors;that sort of house.The giant loved like a giant,and his hands were used to such big thingsthat the giant could notmake the building,could not knock on the doorof the garden where the honeysuckle growsin a riot of colorsat that house.He was a blue-eyed giant,He loved a miniature woman,a mini-miniature woman.The woman was hungry for comfortand tired of the giant's long strides.And bye-bye off she went to the embraces of a rich midgetwith a garden where the honeysuckle growsin a riot of colors;that sort of house.Now the blue-eyed giant realizes,a giant isn't even a graveyard for love:in the garden where the honeysuckle growsin a riot of colors;that sort of house
ON LIVING
I Living is no laughing matter: you must live with great seriousness like a squirrel, for example- I mean without looking for something beyond and above living, I mean living must be your whole occupation.Living is no laughing matter: you must take it seriously, so much so and to such a degree that, for example, your hands tied behind your back, your back to the wall, or else in a laboratory in your white coat and safety glasses, you can die for people- even for people whose faces you've never seen, even though you know living is the most real, the most beautiful thing. I mean, you must take living so seriously that even at seventy, for example, you'll plant olive trees- and not for your children, either, but because although you fear death you don't believe it, because living, I mean, weighs heavier II Let's say you're seriously ill, need surgery - which is to say we might not get from the white table.Even though it's impossible not to feel sad about going a little too soon,we'll still laugh at the jokes being told,we'll look out the window to see it's raining,or still wait anxiously for the latest newscast ...Let's say we're at the front- for something worth fighting for, say.There, in the first offensive, on that very day, we might fall on our face, dead.We'll know this with a curious anger, but we'll still worry ourselves to death about the outcome of the war, which could last years.Let's say we're in prisonand close to fifty,and we have eighteen more years, say, before the iron doors will open.We'll still live with the outside,with its people and animals, struggle and wind- I mean with the outside beyond the walls.I mean, however and wherever we are, we must live as if we will never die. III This earth will grow cold, a star among stars and one of the smallest,a gilded mote on blue velvet- I mean this, our great earth.This earth will grow cold one day,not like a block of iceor a dead cloud evenbut like an empty walnut it will roll along in pitch-black space ...You must grieve for this right now-you have to feel this sorrow now-for the world must be loved this much if you're going to say ``I lived''
He was a blue-eyed giant,He loved a miniature woman.The woman's dream was of a miniature housewith a garden where honeysuckle grows in a riot of colors;that sort of house.The giant loved like a giant,and his hands were used to such big thingsthat the giant could notmake the building,could not knock on the doorof the garden where the honeysuckle growsin a riot of colorsat that house.He was a blue-eyed giant,He loved a miniature woman,a mini-miniature woman.The woman was hungry for comfortand tired of the giant's long strides.And bye-bye off she went to the embraces of a rich midgetwith a garden where the honeysuckle growsin a riot of colors;that sort of house.Now the blue-eyed giant realizes,a giant isn't even a graveyard for love:in the garden where the honeysuckle growsin a riot of colors;that sort of house
ON LIVING
I Living is no laughing matter: you must live with great seriousness like a squirrel, for example- I mean without looking for something beyond and above living, I mean living must be your whole occupation.Living is no laughing matter: you must take it seriously, so much so and to such a degree that, for example, your hands tied behind your back, your back to the wall, or else in a laboratory in your white coat and safety glasses, you can die for people- even for people whose faces you've never seen, even though you know living is the most real, the most beautiful thing. I mean, you must take living so seriously that even at seventy, for example, you'll plant olive trees- and not for your children, either, but because although you fear death you don't believe it, because living, I mean, weighs heavier II Let's say you're seriously ill, need surgery - which is to say we might not get from the white table.Even though it's impossible not to feel sad about going a little too soon,we'll still laugh at the jokes being told,we'll look out the window to see it's raining,or still wait anxiously for the latest newscast ...Let's say we're at the front- for something worth fighting for, say.There, in the first offensive, on that very day, we might fall on our face, dead.We'll know this with a curious anger, but we'll still worry ourselves to death about the outcome of the war, which could last years.Let's say we're in prisonand close to fifty,and we have eighteen more years, say, before the iron doors will open.We'll still live with the outside,with its people and animals, struggle and wind- I mean with the outside beyond the walls.I mean, however and wherever we are, we must live as if we will never die. III This earth will grow cold, a star among stars and one of the smallest,a gilded mote on blue velvet- I mean this, our great earth.This earth will grow cold one day,not like a block of iceor a dead cloud evenbut like an empty walnut it will roll along in pitch-black space ...You must grieve for this right now-you have to feel this sorrow now-for the world must be loved this much if you're going to say ``I lived''