Читать книгу Дикий ирис. Аверн. Ночь, всеохватная ночь - Луиза Глик - Страница 5

The sun shines; by the mailbox, leaves

of the divided birch tree folded, pleated like fins.

Underneath, hollow stems of the white daffodils, Ice Wings,

            Cantatrice; dark

leaves of the wild violet. Noah says

depressives hate the spring, imbalance

between the inner and the outer world. I make

another case – being depressed, yes, but in a sense

            passionately

attached to the living tree, my body

actually curled in the split trunk, almost at peace,

            in the evening rain

almost able to feel

sap frothing and rising: Noah says this is

an error of depressives, identifying

with a tree, whereas the happy heart

wanders the garden like a falling leaf, a figure for

the part, not the whole.