Renata:
My impotence set in a year ago. My paralysis. I suddenly found I couldn't bring myself to write anymore. I shouldn't say "suddenly." Actually, it started happening last winter. Increasing thoughts about death just seemed to come over me. These... A preoccupation with my own mortality. These feelings of futility in relation to my work. Just what am I striving to create, anyway? To what end? For what purpose, what goal? I mean, do I really care if some of my poems are read after I'm gone forever?
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05/03/2025 alle ore 08:39
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