Spanish in her Sleep,
or,
My Dulcinea
She doesn't know any Spanish
but she speaks it in her sleep,
she slips it in her speech,
and I can only hope:
She is dreaming of Andalusia
and me.
or,
My Dulcinea
She doesn't know any Spanish
but she speaks it in her sleep,
she slips it in her speech,
and I can only hope:
She is dreaming of Andalusia
and me.
It was a fire sale,
she was spinning and spinning,
as her heart was in that forest.
And if the forest spins,
it is once a year or less
depending on the bounds of time,
that man, not God has set.
Whatever was spinning,
it wasn't in her heart,
so she vomited and wept.
it was tearing her apart.
She vowed then:
a return to the forest,
following Maimonides charts.
2 comments:
Food for deep thought.
I used to be a fan of short stories, of which I have several of Maugham's. Interesting that you connect Cervantes' and Maugham's Spains.
Next time we meet remind me to ask you to tell me more about the second one. I looked him up and this I like: "One of the central tenets of Maimonides's philosophy is that it is impossible for the truths arrived at by human intellect to contradict those revealed by God."
So am I on the right track that we'd hear the scream of felled trees were we "in tune"?
P.S., thank you for including me in your birthday party!
Beautiful! You need to add a spark notes guide. Happy Mother's Day, V!
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