Mostrando postagens com marcador Ursula K. Le Guin. Mostrar todas as postagens
Mostrando postagens com marcador Ursula K. Le Guin. Mostrar todas as postagens

29 janeiro, 2018

Ursula K. Le Guin

Foto de Arwen Curry.

There’s something
the size of a split pea
that I haven’t written.
that I haven’t written right.
I can’t sleep.
She gets up
and writes it.
Her work
is never done.

Ursula K. Le Guin,The Writer on, and at, Her Work

24 janeiro, 2018

Clothing soul

This thing I am making is my clothing soul.

Ursula K. Le Guin, 1991


Ursula K. Le Guin - A pele

THE SKIN

"All around us is the skin,
helping keep our bodies in.”

I’ve known that poem sixty years.
There’s more to it than first appears.

If we were skinless, like a cloud,
would we not mingle with the crowd?

Would not our little bodies be
more boundless even than the sea,

and gaseous as the atmosphere?
Would we be there as well as here?

Would I be you, and you be me,
and both of us mere entropy?

The two it takes to tango need
to be discrete, not just discreet.

The skin, however, does have holes
for letting in and out our souls,

our food, and such necessities.
It is designed to serve and please.

It washes well, but with the years
gets wrinkles, little spots and smears,

and somehow doesn’t seem to fit
as seamlessly as once as it did.

But still it is my nomad’s tent,
my shelter, my integument,

the outside of myself, this thin,
seemingly superficial skin,

that hems me neatly all about,
keeping foreign bodies out,
and keeping me, a while yet, in.

Ursula K. Le Guin