Sara Teasdale, 'I Shall Not Care'

Apr 03, 2017 01:00

I Shall Not Care

When I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
Though you should lean above me broken-hearted,
I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough;
And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
Than you are right now.

By Sara Teasdale

sara teasdale

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Comments 8

med_cat April 4 2017, 02:19:12 UTC
Methinks the lady does protest too much...
~~

Here's one of hers I like, a bit along the same lines:

When I go back to earth
And all this glorious body
Takes off the red and white
That once had been so proud,
If men should pass above
With false and feeble pity,
My dust shall find a voice
To answer them aloud:

"Be still, I am content,
Take back your poor compassion,
Joy was a flame in me
Too steady to destroy.
Lithe as a bending reed
Loving the storm that sways her,
I found more joy in sorrow
Than you could find in joy."

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duathir April 4 2017, 14:53:46 UTC
She is right that when she is dead she will not care.

I like that poem too; thank you.

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med_cat April 4 2017, 15:55:41 UTC
She is right, yes...and yet, the poem you posted, somehow, has an echo of, "when I am dead, then all of them will be _sorry_!!"...

...or, perhaps, it only seems thus to me.

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duathir April 5 2017, 07:24:23 UTC
She does seem to hope one might lean above her broken-hearted, but she will not know if he does, and probably he would not.

To me it seems more "when I am dead, then your coldness will no longer hurt me."

It brings to mind also this poem, 'Departure'.

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here's one from Dorothy Parker med_cat April 4 2017, 15:56:54 UTC
Braggart

The days will rally, wreathing
Their crazy tarantelle;
And you must go on breathing,
But I'll be safe in hell.

Like January weather,
The years will bite and smart,
And pull your bones together
To wrap your chattering heart.

The pretty stuff you're made of
Will crack and crease and dry.
The thing you are afraid of
Will look from every eye.

You will go faltering after
The bright, imperious line,
And split your throat on laughter,
And burn your eyes with brine.

You will be frail and musty
With peering, furtive head,
Whilst I am young and lusty
Among the roaring dead.
Dorothy Parker

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duathir April 5 2017, 07:59:11 UTC
Classic Parker; thank you. It puts me in mind of Ray Bradbury's story 'The Tombling Day' - here is the Russian version; I do not find the English.

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med_cat April 5 2017, 20:48:20 UTC
Interesting, thanks; I don't recall that story...but yes, typical Ray Bradbury...

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