Where we use our inside voice.
Ballerina in Red by Degas
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
4 comments:
lovely in her bones
Very nice.
Thanks, Lydia. I really like this poem, but I never stopped to really analyze that phrase. What does it mean, I wonder, compared to the tenor of the whole poem.
I took the phrase on first reading to mean she was lovely through and through, not just on the surface. But then, as you say, the tenor of the whole poem makes me question that. Especially since it ends with a return to "bones":
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways)
I've often wanted to sit down with the author of a poem and ask, just what in heck does this or that mean, anyway?
Sometimes I think they get carried away with sound and rhythm and lose the thread of meaning.
And the thing is, I don't want to look up what it mean...I kinda like to work things out myself, right or wrong :) Thanks, Lydia.
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