/lit/ - Literature

write it

>>19222135
did your bitch die or something dawg?

The Raven

>>19222159
Thank you anon

Life as It Is, by Nelson Rodrigues.

>>19222135
not a book but listen to A Crow Looked at Me
hope you get better fren

>>19222135
Bump I need to know

>>19222489
thank you anon, but I want to die

I have just the poem for this but I can't remember it for the life of me. It's about a farmer who just lost his wife, goes to sleep after a hard day's work, dreams of her death, and wakes up in a cold sweat and realizes the screams he heard in the dream were just a raccoon scratching at his roof. It's a heavy, heavy poem. God I wish I could remember it. It's part of the anthology "Poems that make grown men cry"

>>19225606
Could you post the title if you find it, please?

>>19222141
What he said. I would read that

>>19225617
I will try to desperately track it down for you today, don't let this thread die. I want to re-read it myself.

>>19225633
Thank you.

Bump

>>19222135
La sombra del ciprés es alargada.

>>19225635
Found it.

The Widower in the Country by Nick Cave

I'll get up soon, and leave my bed unmade.
I’ll go outside and split off kindling wood,
From the yellow-box log that lies beside the gate,
And the sun will be high, for I get up late now.
I’ll drive my axe in the log and come back in
With my armful of wood, and pause to look across
The Christmas paddocks aching in the heat
The windless trees, the nettles in the yard . . .
And then I’ll go in, boil water and make tea.

This afternoon, I’ll stand out on the hill
And watch my house away below, and how
The roof reflects the sun and makes my eyes
Water and close on bright webbed visions smeared
On the dark of my thoughts to dance and fade away,
Then the sun will move on, and I will simply watch,
Or work, or sleep. And evening will draw in.

Coming on dark, I’ll go home, light the lamp
And eat my corned-beef supper, sitting there
At the head of the table. Then I’ll go to bed.
Last night I thought I dreamt – but when I woke
The screaming was only a possum ski-ing down
The iron roof on little moonlit claws.

>>19225982
Commentary from the anthology:

This very sad poem of loss revolves mournfully around the unmentioned death of the farmer’s wife, as we follow him through his dire and ineffectual day’s work. He is that tough old Australian country man, so familiar to me, just getting on with the business of life – and this is sad enough in itself – but it is the violence of the last two lines, that screaming unconsciousness, that really brings on the waterworks.

I hope it brings you some comfort my friend.