Dette emne er markeret som "i hvile"—det seneste indlæg er mere end 90 dage gammel. Du kan vække emnet til live ved at poste et indlæg.
Theodore Roethke wrote in "Song":
From whence, love?
From the dirt in the street,
From the bolt, stuck in its groove,
From the cur at my feet.
ahh, but it's Pablo Neruda's "Captain's Verses" that's brought me deep in to the realms of secretive, desperate loves ...
several stories here for several other times . . .
I found this one recently at http://www.links2love.com/poetry_68.htm
Here is an excerpt:
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent, starving I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disquiets me,
I search the liquid sound of your steps all day.
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your loveliness,
The nose, sovereign of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
And I walk hungry, smelling the twilight
Looking for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barren wilderness.
Henry Miller would be another author who brings those nitty gritty details of love, desperation, and sex together in a wonderful mix.
Stephen Ambrose (historian), whose books I enjoy very much, said he wanted to be a novelist until he realized he'd have to write about love or sex. I admit, it isn't easy. Few writers can capture it in a way that isn't either filthy or laughable. Ah, but Neruda, yes, he did. And so, so well.