(no subject)
Mar. 13th, 2004 12:22 amThis is a photograph of me.
It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;
then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.
(The photograph was taken
the day after I drowned.
I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.
It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion
but if you look long enough,
eventually
you will be able to see me.)
--Margaret Atwood
It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;
then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.
(The photograph was taken
the day after I drowned.
I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.
It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion
but if you look long enough,
eventually
you will be able to see me.)
--Margaret Atwood
no subject
Date: 2004-03-13 06:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-13 01:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-13 06:34 pm (UTC)Atwood's an underrated poet, I think -- largely because her fiction is so terrific and so well-known that the poetry gets overlooked. But I've always thought she was a fine, fine poet.
no subject
Date: 2004-03-13 06:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-16 02:49 pm (UTC)