fter being conditioned as a child to the lovely never-never land of Magic, of fairy queens and virginal maidens, of little princes and their rosebushes, of poignant bears and Eeyore-ish donkeys, of life personalized, as the pagans loved it, of the magical wand, and the faultless illustrations – the beautiful dark-haired child (Who was you) winging through the midnight Sky on a star path in her mother’s Box of reels – of Griselda in her feather clock, walking barefoot with the Cuckoo in the lantern-lit world of nodding mandarins, of Delight in her flower garden with the slim-limbed flower sprites... all this I know, and felt, and believed. All this was my life when I was young. To go from this to the world of “grown-up” reality... To feel the sex organs develop and call loud to the flesh; to become aware of school, exams (the very words as unlovely as the sound of chalk shrilling on the blackboard), Bread and butter, marriage, sex, compatibility, war, economics, death and self. What a pathetic blighting of the beauty and reality of childhood. Not to be sentimental, as I sound, but why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the Wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life? To learn snide and smutty meanings of words you once loved, like “fairy”.Sylvia Plath (1932 – 1963), poet.
Trecho extraído do livro “Mirror, mirror on the wall: women writers explore their favorite fairy tales” editado por Kate Bernheimer – 2nd Anchor Books, 1998.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário