(no subject)
I really do live by the sea. I really am happy!
I really do have a vital, a permanent marriage
only death can undo. I do, I am. I really love
him. I really love you, too, and a few close others.
My dear children, of course. And babies categorically.
And the natural world--believe me, I answer its beauty
the way the sea, in its colors, answers a complex sky.
One can feel into nature without being escapist, you know.
If ever I was an "as if" person, I'm not so now.
I seldom drift off. I'm here, alert, present.
I keep voting "aye" to my life, haven't you heard me?
That one family weekend when you saw me fall
into the abyss--that was a fluke, forget you saw that.
I really do live by the sea. I really am happy.
[Barbara Greenberg]
Read as a stylized mockery of all sentiments saccharinely Hallmark, Greenberg's wry and deliberately unromantic sonnet has won my affection. Her style--much more prosaic than poetic, and leaving too little room for imagination or ambiguity to romp--may be justly deemed crude, and the sentiments more than a little hyperbolic. I commend the candor, however, and the unceremonious briskness with wish her confessions dash about.
I really do have a vital, a permanent marriage
only death can undo. I do, I am. I really love
him. I really love you, too, and a few close others.
My dear children, of course. And babies categorically.
And the natural world--believe me, I answer its beauty
the way the sea, in its colors, answers a complex sky.
One can feel into nature without being escapist, you know.
If ever I was an "as if" person, I'm not so now.
I seldom drift off. I'm here, alert, present.
I keep voting "aye" to my life, haven't you heard me?
That one family weekend when you saw me fall
into the abyss--that was a fluke, forget you saw that.
I really do live by the sea. I really am happy.
[Barbara Greenberg]
Read as a stylized mockery of all sentiments saccharinely Hallmark, Greenberg's wry and deliberately unromantic sonnet has won my affection. Her style--much more prosaic than poetic, and leaving too little room for imagination or ambiguity to romp--may be justly deemed crude, and the sentiments more than a little hyperbolic. I commend the candor, however, and the unceremonious briskness with wish her confessions dash about.