Ophelias song

Flowers, flowers are dead -
torture, pain, torment.
Awful silence, heartbeats
and my heart, my heart bleeds.

Pink and white petals dead,
only pain ahead;
orange dust marked white cloth
and the ancient gold cross.

On the long green stems
are small buds like white gems.
Sprinkle, sprinkle new life,
flowers may then survive.

 
The moon drops pallid glow
in the river wide flow,
and my dress is all wet -
loving heart is dead, dead.


Рецензии
Years ago I saw a cartoon, perhaps in Playboy magazine. An aspiring actress, young bimbo, speaks to an aged cynical producer:

Producer - Have you done fellatio?
Actress   - no, but I have done Ophelia

Clittary Hilton   06.02.2005 04:20     Заявить о нарушении
Dear Cli,

What have you been doing years ago going through Playboy magazines? A nice lady like you… It is usually a magazine for sexually frustrated boys or equally aggravated cynical old male producers.

I appreciate that Shakespeare and his literary heroes a bit of an old bag, but you went over board

А Н Е Л   06.02.2005 13:50   Заявить о нарушении
Dear Lena,

In terms of entertaining cartoons, jokes and fine fiction, Playboy, especially years ago, could beat most other magazines hands down (except New Yorker)... I subscribed to Playboy in those days... Where else could your read a lengthy interview with the "racist" nobelist Shockley? Certainly, not in Time or Newsweek. Today, of course, Playboy is a boring softcore rag, competing for audience with Hustler. I do not patronize either but surely not for prudish reasons...

Actually, I do not like any magazines these days. New Yorker (and the NY Review of Books) has become a left-wing rag... I am still subscribing to these party organs, like I do to the NY Times, but only our of inertia.

Cheers
Kli

Clittary Hilton   06.02.2005 16:46   Заявить о нарушении
На это произведение написаны 2 рецензии, здесь отображается последняя, остальные - в полном списке.