My melancholy was gold dust in your hands;
On your long hands I scattered my life;
My sweetnesses remained clutched in your hands;
Now I am a vial of perfume, emptied
How much sweet torture quietly suffered,
When, my soul wrested with shadowy sadness,
She who knows the tricks, I passed the days
kissing the two hands that stifled my life
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wow
From guest tashiana (contact)
a simple poem but also intricate it captivates the mind in all aspects -
I took time to learn more about Storni after I read the bio on this site. Yesterday, we observed the anniversary of a family member that died from cancer. It's ironic how Storni's poetic works were meant to be "found" today--this time of reflection for our family. This poem is so moving, so sad. The hand images in this poem are emotional-elongaged, there, a cluthing object, stifling, something to kiss. There isn't any actions being generated by the hands; all the actions are by the person speaking--one-way. The hands are just "there". The title is an oxymoron. The way her feelings are portrayed as melancholy, vial of perfume...is touching to me.
Sometimes life does seem like the kissing of two hands. I'm thinking to the image of a pope or monarch extending the ring hand to be kissed. It's that acknowledgment of authority, that visual, that keeps floating in my mind. -
alfonsina se fue al mar
todo se cambio deberian de leer mas poesia. dejar abierto el mundo del arte el muno de la musica.. -
pretty good
I wish you would of written more then that. it would have been great.
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