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You're sad because you're sad. It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. Go see a shrink or take a pill, or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll…
a Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, and environmental activist. She is among the most-honoured authors of fiction in recent history; she is a winner of the Arthur C. Clarke Award and Prince of Asturias award for Literature, has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize five times, winning once, and has been a finalist for the Governor General's Award seven times, winning twice. While she is best known for her work as a novelist, she is also a poet, having published 15 books of poetry to date. Many of her poems have been inspired by myths and fairy tales, which have been interests of hers from an early age. Atwood has published short stories in Tamarack Review, Alphabet, Harper's, CBC Anthology, Ms., Saturday Night, and many other magazines. She has also published four collections of stories and three collections of unclassifiable short prose works.)
Margaret Atwood şiirleri
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Gone are the days when you could walk on water. When you could walk.…
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Starspangled cowboy sauntering out of the almost- silly West, on your face a porcelain grin,…
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All those times I was bored out of my mind. Holding the log while he sawed it. Holding the string while he measured, boards,…
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He, who navigated with success the dangerous river of his own birth once more set forth…
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Winter. Time to eat fat and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat, a black fur sausage with yellow Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries…
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Your lungs fill & spread themselves, wings of pink blood, and your bones empty themselves and become hollow. When you breathe in you’ll lift like a balloon…
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Marriage is not a house or even a tent it is before that, and colder:…
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The world is full of women who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself if they had the chance. Quit dancing. Get some self-respect…
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In the secular night you wander around alone in your house. It's two-thirty. Everyone has deserted you, or this is your story;…
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Love is not a profession genteel or otherwise sex is not dentistry…
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More and more frequently the edges of me dissolve and I become a wish to assimilate the world, including you, if possible through the skin…
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In the burned house I am eating breakfast. You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast, yet here I am.…
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There is nothing to be afraid of, it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your father the thunder…
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I'm thinking about you. What else can I say? The palm trees on the reverse are a delusion; so is the pink sand. What we have are the usual…
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