Poetry (0.024s) Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
Agonia.Net | Policy | Advertising | Contact | Participate | |||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| ||
 |
| ||||||||
![[ Creative ]](/images/menu/eng_CREATIVE.png){kind=small} ![[ Internet ]](/images/menu/eng_INTERNET.png){kind=small} ![[ Culture ]](/images/menu/eng_CULTURE.png){kind=small} ![[ Society ]](/images/menu/eng_SOCIETY.png){kind=small} ![[ Events ]](/images/menu/eng_EVENTS.png){kind=small} ![[ Art ]](/images/menu/eng_ART.png){kind=small} ![[ Books ]](/images/menu/eng_BOOKS.png){kind=small} ![[ Dialogue ]](/images/menu/eng_DIALOGUE.png){kind=small} ![[ Press ]](/images/menu/eng_PRESS.png){kind=small} ![[ Regional ]](/images/menu/eng_REGIONAL.png){kind=small} ![[ _INTERVIEW ]](/images/menu/eng_INTERVIEW.png){kind=small} ![[ Contact ]](/images/base.png){kind=small} |
|||||||||
 |
|||||||||
| |||||||||
|
agonia.net 
· Perspectives
Article 
Despre Boierism: manifest si razie
Round Table
|
- - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-03-07 | | ‘He kissed me,’ Rachel told her aunt Hellen, while they were watching the Dalloways walking farther and farther away from the ship and disappearing, perhaps, forever, in spite of the promises so often heard in such situations of seeing each other again some day. Hellen had suspected that Mr Dalloway was that kind of man. The kiss had come unexpectedly, Rachel was together with Mr Dalloway on the ship discussing politics, and, all of a sudden, or maybe it was her who had not noticed all details, after he told her she tempted him, the kiss followed... so differently from what she had imagined, so different than she thought it could be like... and yet, she had liked it. In spite of a feeling of guilt, perhaps... she had felt guilty towards Mrs Dalloway, they had spent such good times together, she had admired her... What could have determined Mr Dalloway to do something like that? All the more as, finally, he had returned to his wife... Was he recalling, perhaps, while creating that scene with Rachel, times long gone, when he had met Clarissa, and he had told her, ‘My name is Dalloway’? And Peter Walsh had predicted so accurately that he was the man Clarissa would marry... Could it have not been a gesture of a moment’s infidelity towards Clarissa, but a gesture meant to re-create the memory of those past days? Indeed, some things are better to be kept untold... if they are not found out, they cannot hurt anyone... Clarissa had danced with Sally, then Sally had kissed her... and they were left to enjoy the taste of that moment, when they were suddenly interrupted, when asked if the starry sky was not a beautiful view. Rachel and Mr Dalloway kissing had been covered by the night, nobody knew anything, nobody had seen them. What about Terrence? Did Rachel have, with him as well, the memory of a kissing scene as worth remembering? Those walks together, when they had gone far away from the others... then that fragment from a novel about the monotony of marriage... had she, or them both, had any doubts, had they doubted this step? Why, when she had been ill, had she refused to see him? Had she wished to escape this engagement, and, most of everything, this marriage? Why had he told her so... what’s the right word for it? honestly? no, it’s not the right word, honestly and also suddenly, with no hesitations, without trying to seem kind... he had told her he loved her, he liked her, although she was not beautiful... Had marriage remained for Rachel something she could never imagine that might happen to her? Had they been, while engaged, as happy as the others said while discussing about the unfairness of life after Rachel’s death? Clarissa and Sally had been very close friends... they were walking together in the garden and discussing anything, even marriage and how boring it was and how they would escape such a thing... however... they were now both married. What made Clarissa choose Richard over Peter? Peter asked for too much from her... and yet, when she had found out about his love affairs... but his letters were now so boring, when she was thinking of them while walking on the street, on her way to buy flowers for her party... Had she any regret that she had not chosen Peter? *** These thoughts were going on in my mind after I finished reading a few of Virginia Woolf’s novels and short stories. ‘Spring,’ I would have wished to be able to think, to be able to create this illusion for my thoughts, to be able to say ‘spring’ in my mind and even to believe it was. The sun was shining above the park, on its alleys, on its large parts of grass, on the forest, as I would call them and as in fact they looked like. The lake was, however, frozen. On the sunny alleys there were many pairs of young people in love, walking hand in hand... and I was wondering what their story could be, as I was passing close to them. There was, however, some ice in certain places. It was very cold. And yet, the sun was casting the same light as in those short ‘summer days’ at the beginning of autumn, when, waiting for some news or to be called at work I was walking in the same park, remembering the summer days, and it all could be acted very naturally until evening would fall and it would be cold. Then, too, you could see here and there a pair of young people in love walking or sitting on a bench... 'Warm hugs and kisses,' I was writing to Kurt at the end of my messages, replying to him, rather hesitatingly. And he would send me superb emails, and tell me he was imagining all sorts of scenes with me close to him, how I looked at him, how we hugged... He wished we were not so far away one from another, each of us on the other side of the globe.
Views: 225
|
|||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||||
| ||||||||||
|
Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests. | | ||||||||
| ||||||||||
|
