Сега, през февруари ми се наложи се да чета поезия. (Пре)открих Емили Дикинсън. Най-минималистичната поетеса на света. За мен, тя е първият творец, който е достигнал до есенцията в изказа без да засяга излишни детайли. Прочетох много, но отличавам пет стихотворения (от ~1800), които всеки трябва да види в оригинал. Затова ги публикувам. Адвокатите на Емили не могат да ме съдят, защото е починала преди повече от 75 години и няма авторски права върху творбите си. Ха-хаа!

Факти: Емили почти никога не е напускала дома си и родния град. След смърта ѝ, в шкафове в стаята са открили цялото ѝ творчество, за което не е разказвала приживе. Затворен човек. Не е имала заглавия на поемите си и имената на повечето се състоят от първия им ред.


Hope is the thing with feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I ‘ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Success is counted sweetest

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear.

I’m nobody! Who are you?

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there ‘s a pair of us-don’t tell!
They ‘d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

I died for beauty, but was scarce

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
„For beauty,“ I replied.
„And I for truth,-the two are one;
We brethren are,“ he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

The brain is wider than the sky

The brain is wider than the sky,
For, put them side by side,
The one the other will include
With ease, and you beside.

The brain is deeper than the sea,
For, hold them, blue to blue,
The one the other will absorb,
As sponges, buckets do.

The brain is just the weight of God,
For, lift them, pound for pound,
And they will differ, if they do,
As syllable from sound.


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