Читать книгу Dear Prudence - David Trinidad - Страница 9
ОглавлениеFROM TED HUGHES’ LIST OF SUGGESTED WRITING EXERCISES FOR SYLVIA PLATH
Mushrooms, that they think they are going to take over the world. Person walking through enormous dark house.
Weeping in the garden.
Mould in graves.
The laughing merchant—attempts to kill him only make him laugh louder.
Fish tossed ashore for a moment, then recovered by the next wave. Warning to the rose-bud, frost is here.
Houses you have lived in, personified as people.
The pleasant and titillating relationship to be had with things seen from a train.
The face that has just turned away.
To find yourself imprisoned in a certain day of your past.
Watching fat bald men eat.
Somebody whistling in the night, perhaps it’s a little stone.
To sunbathe and become a sea-beach gradually.
The clock, death of the fox, baying of hounds—tick, tick.
Zoo penguins, while the Poles melt.
The gardener’s pipe-smoke.
Single old shoe on moor.
Little jobs as being a process of petrifaction, till you become a stone heroine on a tomb.
The moments of the past which were special, should have memorial stones—the site commemorated. Why put up stones to show where people have died, when the precise places where they came most alive have no more permanence than a thought in the air, or the resting place of a sunbeam.
Hornets.
Pine-cones.
The pathetic beast, whose tearful mumblings I feed three times a day.
Dancers coming down a street, each one more unbelievably dressed than the last.
Midnight in a mountain village.
Snakes in a den, midwinter.
The earth, just cooling—first rains, seas collecting.
The orange’s ignorance of the apple.
Friar drunk in a cellar.
Woman opening a letter.
Your honest opinion about the ass.
Fat businessman, drinking coffee, mechanical determination.
Nothing more junky than old newspapers, the news of the world.
Things I wish I could kick.
The body remained at the rail but the mind fell overboard.
