lazy_natalia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lazy_natalia) wrote2013-02-12 08:55 pm
lazy_natalia) wrote2013-02-12 08:55 pm
(no subject)
Ну и перец этот поэт-лауреат, Ted Huges, супруг Sylvia Plath.
Сыну письмо написал, когда тому было 24:
... I expect, like many another, you'll spend your life oscillating between fierce relationships that become tunnel traps, and sudden escapes into wide freedom when the whole world seems to be just there for the taking. Nobody's solved it.
... I came to America, when I was 27, and lived there three years as if I were living inside a damart sock — I lived in there with your mother. We made hardly any friends, no close ones, and neither of us ever did anything the other didn't want wholeheartedly to do. (It meant, Nicholas, that meeting any female between 17 and 39 was out. Your mother banished all her old friends, girl friends, in case one of them set eyes on me—presumably. And if she saw me talking with a girl student, I was in court. Foolish of her, and foolish of me to encourage her to think her laws were reasonable. But most people are the same. I was quite happy to live like that, for some years.) Since the only thing we both wanted to do was write, our lives disappeared into the blank page.
Дальше там длинно про то, что "мы все внутри дети восьми лет до конца наших дней".
Хуже утверждения "каждый из нас в душе остается тем же ребенком" может быть только утверждение "я не умею жить разумом, я живу чувствами". Услышал - беги, поскольку человек только что официально заявил, что не собирается нести ответственности за те непорядочные поступки, которые, несомненно, уже готовится совершить. И официально тебя об этом предупредил. Ну, и потом это очень пошло. А если такой утонченный человек как Тед Хьюджес начинает нести пошлятину, жди западла.
Хотя очень трогательно, конечно.
... So everybody develops a whole armour of secondary self, the artificially constructed being that deals with the outer world, and the crush of circumstances. And when we meet people this is what we usually meet. And if this is the only part of them we meet we're likely to get a rough time, and to end up making 'no contact'.
... And it's never properly lived. That's how it is in almost everybody. And that little creature is sitting there, behind the armour, peering through the slits. And in its own self, it is still unprotected, incapable, inexperienced. Every single person is vulnerable to unexpected defeat in this inmost emotional self.
... hat's the paradox: the only time most people feel alive is when they're suffering, when something overwhelms their ordinary, careful armour, and the naked child is flung out onto the world. That's why the things that are worst to undergo are best to remember. But when that child gets buried away under their adaptive and protective shells—he becomes one of the walking dead, a monster.
Кстати, люди, которые "живее всего, когда страдают", это тоже АЛАРМ! Чужое страдание их так же бодрит, тут дело такое. Подавляющее большинство вообще старается им и ограничиться, пытаясь его при этом еще и присвоить, хотя бы частично. Тут в дело вступает фраза "пойми, мне тоже очень больно" или "неужели ты думаешь, что мне легко уйти о наших детей". Но тут бежать уже, как правило, поздно.
Сыну письмо написал, когда тому было 24:
... I expect, like many another, you'll spend your life oscillating between fierce relationships that become tunnel traps, and sudden escapes into wide freedom when the whole world seems to be just there for the taking. Nobody's solved it.
... I came to America, when I was 27, and lived there three years as if I were living inside a damart sock — I lived in there with your mother. We made hardly any friends, no close ones, and neither of us ever did anything the other didn't want wholeheartedly to do. (It meant, Nicholas, that meeting any female between 17 and 39 was out. Your mother banished all her old friends, girl friends, in case one of them set eyes on me—presumably. And if she saw me talking with a girl student, I was in court. Foolish of her, and foolish of me to encourage her to think her laws were reasonable. But most people are the same. I was quite happy to live like that, for some years.) Since the only thing we both wanted to do was write, our lives disappeared into the blank page.
Дальше там длинно про то, что "мы все внутри дети восьми лет до конца наших дней".
Хуже утверждения "каждый из нас в душе остается тем же ребенком" может быть только утверждение "я не умею жить разумом, я живу чувствами". Услышал - беги, поскольку человек только что официально заявил, что не собирается нести ответственности за те непорядочные поступки, которые, несомненно, уже готовится совершить. И официально тебя об этом предупредил. Ну, и потом это очень пошло. А если такой утонченный человек как Тед Хьюджес начинает нести пошлятину, жди западла.
Хотя очень трогательно, конечно.
... So everybody develops a whole armour of secondary self, the artificially constructed being that deals with the outer world, and the crush of circumstances. And when we meet people this is what we usually meet. And if this is the only part of them we meet we're likely to get a rough time, and to end up making 'no contact'.
... And it's never properly lived. That's how it is in almost everybody. And that little creature is sitting there, behind the armour, peering through the slits. And in its own self, it is still unprotected, incapable, inexperienced. Every single person is vulnerable to unexpected defeat in this inmost emotional self.
... hat's the paradox: the only time most people feel alive is when they're suffering, when something overwhelms their ordinary, careful armour, and the naked child is flung out onto the world. That's why the things that are worst to undergo are best to remember. But when that child gets buried away under their adaptive and protective shells—he becomes one of the walking dead, a monster.
Кстати, люди, которые "живее всего, когда страдают", это тоже АЛАРМ! Чужое страдание их так же бодрит, тут дело такое. Подавляющее большинство вообще старается им и ограничиться, пытаясь его при этом еще и присвоить, хотя бы частично. Тут в дело вступает фраза "пойми, мне тоже очень больно" или "неужели ты думаешь, что мне легко уйти о наших детей". Но тут бежать уже, как правило, поздно.